


Take the Target

by kd_ntjb



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kd_ntjb/pseuds/kd_ntjb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plot twist: When Aubrey asks Beca for ‘a word’ after that first practice, she asks her out. Thus begins a long, long road to the ICCAs. Also detours. There are a lot of those.</p><p>(Includes awkward courtships, annoying families and intimacy issues.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Aubrey was a Posen and was, consequentially, to be held up to the standards of conduct and excellence every Posen was meant to exemplify. Her father had raised her with expectations and ambitions and, considering all the sacrifices he had made for her, Aubrey felt it the least she could do to just _live up to them_.  Her father loved her, she was fairly sure, but whether he was _proud_ of her was a separate matter. Aubrey always felt terrible about just being _given_ the first so she put her all into _earning_ the second to compensate. Living up to his standards was a small favor to ask, after all, as recompense.

In any case, Aubrey was a _Posen_. Proud. Strong. Reliable. Capable.

Her current behavior? Not Posen-like at all.

Posens took action. Posens fought for what they wanted. Posens had their shit together.

Posens did not lie awake in their beds at night (ruining their sleep cycles) as their thoughts cycled through endless scenarios and images of a some alt girl they had just seen, grabbing their head in their hands endlessly fixated with images of cleavage and simultaneous loathing of said alt girl’s snotty personality and pretty blue eyes—

Dad had always told Aubrey hating people was not worth it **_ever_** : not worth the effort and emotional exhaustion it surely required; not worth the ugly scars left on her soul from the negativity; and not worth any amount of belligerent sexual tension that may inevitably arise for having such deep emotions of any kind for another person.

The third point was really the most significant and informally dubbed ‘The Posen Curse’ by her family.

It was a thing. An actual thing. At countless family reunions through the years, Aubrey had been regaled by stories of how her family met: how Dad was taken by the infuriating reporter always pestering him for details about what was _really_ happening up in HQ; how her aunt had nearly clocked out her uncle after he interrupted her approach on another boy she liked when he dedicated a song to her in the middle of the biggest school dance, like, ever; how Nana and Pappy met when she threw a snowball at his head because he was bullying her little brother and so on and so forth.

They all underscored what being a Posen _was_ though, through all the flowering romance and verbal sniping.

Posens took action, regardless of how uncertain the future seemed.

Posens fought for what they wanted, even if they didn’t have a clear idea of what that was, precisely.

Aubrey was a Posen. This was senior year. She had been publically humiliated and had documentation of her fall from grace go viral amongst the A Capella circuit. She had very little left to lose.

So why not?

She gathered herself together, sat upright in her bed—

\--And proceeded to crash right back down again overcome by her inadequacy. _What the hell was she thinking?_ She couldn’t just get up and ask the girl out. _She didn’t even remember her name_.

Actually, come to think of it, did the girl even _say_ her name? Aubrey just remembered being furious that the girl had spilled all her pens and _taken her cup_ (the cup she’d had since _sixth grade_ , thanks) and just started _drumming on it_ like it was some sort of common instrument instead of a _cup_ imbued with _year upon years_ of sentimentality (and then more ridiculous feelings of jealously for the _cup_ that got to be all over the girl’s slender hands but that was a bad place and Aubrey thought such prurient thoughts unseemly when she _still didn’t know the girl’s damn name_ ) before being almost impressed enough by her voice to forgive the gaff with the pens. (It still wasn’t quite enough to forgive the pen spilling, but just barely.)

In an case, her absurd trains of thought were clearly a sign this girl was _bad_ , _destabilizing news_ and should be treated with only the utmost professionalism, befitting of a Posen, in Bella practices.

Clearly.

Only…

Aubrey scrambled around once more before finding her phone. She took a brave inhale and dialed.

“Posen speaking,” the voice on the other line replied.

“Daddy,” Aubrey said. “I think I have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” her father said. From his voice, she could tell his posture was ramrod straight.

“The Posen Curse.”

Her father sounded like he was shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a place to sit still or to get comfortable wherever he was. “I see.”

“So there’s this—”

“Target,” he interrupted. “Tell me about this target of your interest.”

“Target,” Aubrey repeated. “Wait, shouldn’t it be ‘mark’?”

“Mark suggests you would take advantage of…the target. I certainly raised you better than that,” he said, “and I don’t want to think of anyone you’re pursuing as a human being. It would make me too likely to try and background check and interrogate them.”

Well, that sounded pretty understandable.

“The target…infuriates me.”

He stayed silent on the other side of the line, clearly waiting for more _useful_ Intel before he could offer up any advice.

“We are diametrically opposed in personality. Where we do share common ground, our interest exists in subsets so separated their may as well exist in different fields. The target and I even started off antagonistically when I, unsuitably, lost my composure and engaged in…childish insult calling. Just thinking of the target makes me want to throw something at a wall.

“At the same time, I recognize these reactions are completely irrational given how little personal information I have gathered about the target and the niche setting of out interactions. But, I am...intrigued, regardless.”

“How many times have you spoken.”

“Twice.”

“Hmm,” he said, in a voice that was clearly surprised his daughter could have such a visceral emotional reaction to _anyone_ with such little exposure. “What’s the common interest?”

“Music,” she said.

“That’s more than adequate. There’s no need for total agreement between people,” he said, almost nodding. “Healthy conflict would be good for you. You need to learn how to handle conflict. That’s what happens in the real world.”

She bristled at the thought of being called ‘ _sheltered_ ’ again but wouldn’t show it, not in the slightest scoff or exhale.

“It’s like your brother says,” he continued, “when you clash with others, you expand your own world.”

“He was quoting a video game,” she deadpanned.

“Insight is insight. Do you think you could like the target, if you dig beneath your immediate reaction.”

 _Yes. Definitely. Pretty sure I already do to an excessive amount._ “Probably.”

“Then the obvious goal would be to take the target. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“No,” Aubrey hissed. “She such a—” Ah, _shit_ , why did she use _gender-specific language?_

“Aubrey,” he began.

“Yes?”

“The target’s not a boy, is he?”

Aubrey didn’t reply. She held her breath. This wasn’t the way she’d intended for it to come out.

For years she’d been testing the waters, asking her father for his opinion on this and that (what do you think about the gay neighbors? Would you mind if I slept over at a friend’s house and by the way she’s dating another girl in school does that affect your decision? What do you think about marriage, what do you think about DADT? Do you think it’s different now and then? Did you know for some people it’s not just boys _or_ girls but both? Do you think that’s indecision or…?). Just small steps getting him adjusted to the idea. She had planned on waiting till graduation when he would, at least, be proud enough of her academics to ignore the topic if he felt to uncomfortable but now—

After so many years a tiny part of her hoped he already knew but just didn’t say anything. If his silence was the closest thing to acceptance she could have got it would have been enough. This question was somehow worst than anything she could have expected. Not being able to see his face just lead her to imagining worse things.

She was broken from her reverie by his cough.

“Aubrey, whatever it is, I don’t expect to understand it but make sure that you’re happy and make sure you do it right: whatever is right for you and what is right as a member of this family. And I would remind you to use the proper language—” (private, detached, impersonal language, because her father did not deal with feelings and this was a stretch as it is) “—when discussing mission objectives.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Aubrey,” he said.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I love you,” he said a little more quietly.

“I love you too, Daddy.”

They just stayed on the phone like that for a little while, quiet.

* * *

 Alt Girl’s name was Beca. Aubrey knew because Chloe told her so.

They were gathering supplies for the Aca-initiation and arranging the ornate display of candles and sacred chalace when Chloe just started talking, as per her usual MO. She seemed optimistic about their prospects whereas Aubrey was a little more skeptical about the ragtag band of, thankfully blessed with a sense of pitch, misfits they had brought together.

Beca could _sing_.

Chloe had found that out after practices gathering information and talking to recruits when Aubrey had elected to run away, still a little wounded by the cup touching.

Chloe had told her everything, rather cheerfully, including how she found out about Beca’s singing chops in the shower and _weren’t you proud, Aubrey, I did some pro-active recruiting?_

Chloe’s chirpy friendliness coupled with a very loose grasp over the concept of personal boundaries was usually refreshing and amusing. Aubrey did her very best not to mind the being naked thing but, in the spirit of Chloe’s honesty, blurted out, “I think I have a crush on Beca so I’m going to ask her out so I really hope you don't have a thing for her since you had that naked shower chemistry and everything.”

There was silence before the smile on Chloe’s face split into an unnervingly large grin.

“Ohmigod, Aubrey, I’m so happy for you!” she said. Chloe being Chloe, a lot more was unspoken, though, at least between them. Aubrey was thankful all the years of friendship gave her the ability to translate. “You haven’t gone after anyone in ages (code for: at all) and it’s great that you finally like someone (code for: I’m so glad you’re finally interested in getting laid, you really needed it) and I can help you out (code for: I have totally got your back, I am an awesome wingman, don’t you want to watch me be an awesome wingman, Aubrey?) if you want.”

Chloe pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

“So, you’re not into Beca?” she said, just to clarify.

“What? Oh, no. I mean, I think she’s got a really nice body, so you’ve got plenty to look forward too, but I’d never let anyone get in the way of our friendship. Besides, I met this really cute water polo player and he’ll probably keep me preoccupied this month. We’ll see where it goes. He’s the boy I was in the shower with when I heard Beca singing.”

“That’s nice,” Aubrey replied. She didn’t bother learning the names of Chloe’s partners until they passed a sixth month milestone in the same way Aubrey’s father had very little interest in meeting his children’s dalliances unless they had the express intention of marrying them. It was another sign she was clearly her father’s daughter.

“Oh, do you want to pull the pillowcase off her head?”

“Is that a euphemism?”

Chloe waggled an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

“…That’s okay, you can do that.”

“Okay, as long as you don’t get jealous.”

“It doesn’t really matter. Just line them up. I’ll do the first two, you do the last two however they end up standing.”

“So you can leave your _options open_ in de-pillowcasing Beca?”

“I don’t know what that even means, Chloe.”

Chloe winked and Aubrey immediately regretted telling her _anything_.

* * *

 The initiation went fine. Aubrey remained focused (like a laser, dammit, regarding things that _weren’t_ Beca Mitchell) on procedures and traditions and then off it was to hood night. Did they really do it? Whatever it was they had gathered, Aubrey would have to make it work.

That would be fine. Posens were nothing if not pragmatic. Then it was off to Hood Night. Softening the beaches.

Chloe had talked her up the day before and the mission objective was flashing so much in Aubrey’s mind she could practically see it, printing in her corner vision like a mission objective the HUD of one of her brother’s shooting games, begging to be fulfilled.

She could do this. She could do this. She could totally do this!

She couldn’t do this.

Chloe, her apparent wingman, had spoken to Beca once, allegedly to ‘warm her up’ for Aubrey and then scampered off to get shitfaced and make out with that one guy whoever he was. Some great _wingman_ there. Aubrey’s inner turmoil left her reeling, especially when some upstart Freshman _Treble_ (Jesse, she dully recalled) starting chatting Beca up and all she could do was stare, outraged as she attempted to chug down more liquid courage and walk on over there.

Right now, red cup strangely empty, Aubrey thought she needed _just_ a little more liquid courage. Or maybe a warm up. Yes, she thought. Chloe was on to something there. Aubrey couldn’t just walk up to Beca and ask her out. She needed to act casual. Friendly. Just dip her toes into the water. She needed to get out there in a friendship mindset. So she needed to talk to someone else first in a totally friendly way (and if Beca got jealous, doubtful but still possible, that would be even better) and practice her socializing. She was felling pretty mellow now that she was buzzed so she could do this. She just needed to talk to someone to make sure she wasn’t too drunk that she’d projectile vomit all over the object of her affection.

Fat Amy fit the bill pretty well. The thing was, though, that Aubrey got so anxious about talking to Beca in any capacity at all that she thought the best course of action was to play it cool.

Very cool.

Actually, the game plan morphed totally from direct approach to ‘just enjoy yourself at the party so Beca at least knows you’re capable of that’ to ‘let’s just deal with Beca another day I don’t think you’re really ready for direct interaction’ and Aubrey was totally cool with that. Totally.

It was Hood night! She didn’t need to go do un-fun things on Hood night. She had time. Really.

(Hopefully tomorrow Chloe would be too hungover to criticize her for chickening out on the plan.)

* * *

Aubrey was such an idiot. Chloe _never_ got hangovers.

Bitch.

* * *

 After Chloe had given Aubrey aspirin and water and ensured she was nice and comfortable in her bed, swaddled by blankets and looking at her, blearily eyes, she thwacked the back of Aubrey’s head pretty hard.

(That was the thing about Chloe, she was stronger than she looked, but only when she was upset. Other times Chloe was a total wuss who didn’t have a _thing_ on Aubrey. Dimly, Aubrey remembered now really wasn’t the time to be thinking about that.)

“Aubrey!” she yelled in a way that wasn’t helpful for her hangover at all. “You didn’t speak to her _at all_.”

Aubrey considered asking _how she knew that_ but, on second thought, she’d rather not know. Aubrey had her own little collection of spies too and she didn’t really want to get into a ‘whose social informant web is bigger’ fight. Instead, she just looked down a little shamefully. “Talking is _hard_. Guys have to do this _all the time_?”

Chloe just shot her a scathing look and threw a pillow at her head.

“Aubrey!” she scolded.

“Fine, fine,” Aubrey replied. “I’ll ask her today after practice. I can totally do that. Today. After practice. Which I am totally up for.”

Chloe looked unconvinced but relented. Aubrey could bounce back from things fairly well, after all.

Still, Chloe wasn’t going to _leave_ until she was totally sure Aubrey was actually going to get up and dressed and Aubrey could understand where she was coming from. It was a typical sight to see Aubrey Posen look ruined after a night of partying or still in bed past six in the morning.

“I’m fine, Chloe,” she assured.

Chloe looked concerned, finally seeing the other half of poor, besotted Aubrey (the parts she hoped no one would see ever) and, as good as her intentions were, Aubrey still yelled at her to get out as she got dressed.

Today was the day.

* * *

Beca Mitchell didn’t really know why she was now part of an entirely female competitive Acapella group. Beca didn’t even have that many female friends. (Or many friends in general, actually, but that was beside the point.)

Chloe was…nice, she guessed, if a little bit too nice, but disliking Chloe felt sort of like kicking a puppy down the street in full view of all the people on the street. She was just a little much, but Beca figured as long as the older girl was trying to be friendly she could try and not be a total jerk by kind of trying back.

Aubrey was intense in a different way. A mostly bad different way. A very intense, callous and dictatorial way. She didn’t really know what to expect from Aubrey’s over the top oath on Hood Night but her treatment of the ‘Treble-boned’ pretty much dropkicked any remaining reservations of judgment out the window.

“Was that really necessary?”

“This is war, Beca,” said Aubrey with an intense, slightly unstable look, “and it is _my_ job to make sure my soldiers are prepped at go time with three kickass songs sung and choreographed to perfection. So if you have a problem with how I run the Bellas—” She made an undignified choking noise.

“Don’t stress, Aubrey,” Chloe whispered. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened last year.”

And that was how Beca learnt about Aubrey’s projectile vomiting. As far as nervous tics went, that was a pretty unfortunate one. The event was pretty humiliating, and, at last, Beca could sort of see Aubrey projecting all of last year’s insecurities onto the new Bellas. She didn’t really _excuse_ it but she _understood_ it.

Some tiny shreds of likeability for Aubrey clung on but Beca was pretty sure those would get kicked out of her mind pretty soon if Aubrey was going to continue this hyper-intense emphasis on perfection. Still, Aubrey got things done and Beca could respect that, at least.

Also, Aubrey sang pretty well too and her advice for providing the ‘oohs’, ‘aahs’ and weird buzzing noises for whole songs. When she managed to tone down the hints of know-it-all in the advise, Aubrey seemed pretty decent, actually.

Practice finished when Aubrey gave up just as Aubrey basically decided everything in practice. She wondered just how Chloe fit into all this. Beca was pretty thankful and mostly tired. She was pretty sure they’d reached the limit of progress for today.

“Hey, Aubrey, did we just learn the same choreography as in that video?” Beca asked.

Aubrey’s eye twitched as she shot a glance at Beca. She seemed to tense.

“Yes it was,” she bit out, before slamming her water bottle down on the piano and changing the subject and making an announcement to everyone. “Don’t forget your performance schedules!”

Aubrey started issuing out slips of paper and information on a gig they’d have pretty soon (a little too soon, Beca thought, but maybe she’d surprise herself with her progress). Beca’s ideas about choreograpy didn’t look like they were going to be acknowledged but at least Aubrey had answered her question. It was a tiny victory but, a witness to the tedium of a failing marriage and messy divorce proceedings, Beca knew that it was the sum of tiny victories that led to the coup de grace.

“Beca, a word please?” Aubrey called abruptly, still cleaning up a section of the whiteboard.

“Would you like to get some dinner with me on Saturday?”

“Excuse me?”

“A date,” Aubrey clarified, finally looking at her. She laced her fingers together nonchalantly and crossed her arms in a way that made her look half like their terrifying drill sergeant and half like an awkward middle school boy. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Beca just stared back at her and furrowed an eyebrow.

“You probably think it’s a little weird that I’m asking you this,” Aubrey said, breaking the silence. Her hands fluttered and she re-crossed her arms the other way around.

“Aubrey, it’s more than a little weird. You’ve hated me since I got here.”

“I never hated you,” Aubrey said quickly, and a little hurt (or maybe it was offended, Aubrey had one of those faces that defaulted to indignation at the nearest slight).

“Really,” Beca almost scoffed, but she at least had the decency to try not to make it sound too much like that.

“Look, I’m sorry if I—” Aubrey swallowed “—presumed anything so you’re in no way to obligated to agree or anything, I just, would have liked to go—”

“Okay,” Beca said before Aubrey had her chance to finish her ramblings.

“You will,” Aubrey said, eyes wide and voice a little shaky. “I mean, you will,” she added a little more assured. “Okay. Here’s my, uh, my number in case you— Just tell me when and where I should pick you up.”

“Okay then,” Beca said. Aubrey flustered was such a difference from the moments ago when she was barking orders at the group but, either way, you could still see the stress radiate off the blonde in the taut, near trembling, lines of her muscles; the clench of her jaw, tight and unmoving because even as she breathed the rest of her never seemed to move; her head held high, nose a little upturned and eyes downcast.

“Well? That’s it,” Aubrey almost snapped and Beca became aware that, maybe, she wasn’t that bossy, it was literally _just the way she spoke_ and the though was so ridiculous she had to smother a smile before it reached her face.

It didn’t really work, though, because she let out a little snort. Aubrey sort of blushed and looked away.

“Okay, bye, practice dismissed,” she said and waved her hands in a little shoo motion.

Beca sighed and turned.

“Oh, and, by the way, don’t wear those earrings for the gig,” Aubrey said. Hastily, she added, “please.”

 _Charming_ , Beca mused and, as she walked a way, she became concerned at how that thought wasn’t entirely sarcastic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for feedback

Beca said yes.

It was a long walk back to her room.

Aubrey exercised every bit of self-control she possessed not to fist pump or yell “yes!” with more volume than her father during the Super Bowl (that is until she got back to her room and spent a undignified amount of time rolling around in her bed). She then put all her nervous energy into reorganizing the contents of her closet by color, style and weather-appropriateness for the big event (and for future usefulness).

Chloe had a hot date with Water Polo Boy so when Aubrey regained motor function and rational thought, she texted a quick heads up to her best friend who, naturally if somewhat voyeuristically, wanted a relationship blow by blow.

Aubrey didn’t mind giving it to her either. She liked being meticulous about things and there’d be a lot to consider when dealing with Beca: venue, activity, possible gifts, outfits, backup plans allowing for weather variations, conversation topics.

People often said they admired the spontaneity in love. Aubrey called bullshit. If you wanted something you had to go in _prepared_ —you had to go in with your _A-game_.

Posens were great with that. They were great at everything. Aubrey refused to be an exception. Beca appeared, on the surface, to be a specific type of girl and while packages were generally reflective of the choices of the people who presented themselves as such, Aubrey was not risking everything on first impressions, especially when her hostility had probably made a terrible one on Beca.

That was another point to consider. Not only, as date instigator, would Aubrey have to show Beca a _spectacular time_ in order to show her worth as a romantic prospect, but she’d have to step her game up to another level to make up for her terrible case of foot in mouth (case in point: “We played to Cobb Performing Arts Center, you _bitch_ ”) and the, admittedly large, shadow of Aubrey the no-nonsense Barden Bella Co-Captain.

Who was she kidding? There was a lot to do. Maybe Beca wouldn’t even show up. Maybe Beca wouldn’t even call. Maybe Beca was just planning to go on this date to _mock_ her. Aubrey felt queasy but choked it down.

Aubrey enjoyed preparing dates possibly more than she enjoyed going on them. There was some small comfort in the fact that, even if Beca rejected and humiliated her, she would still have the endorphin rush that came with the five-star execution of painstaking planning and research.

There was also the possibility, and Aubrey wouldn’t let it linger too long in her head no matter how great it seemed, that the date would go off without a hitch and that Beca would look at her, mildly impressed, and Aubrey would walk her back to her form, charming and gregarious and then there, in the quiet of the night for just a little moment, Beca would smile and it would be just for her.

There was a lot to do. Despite the weight of all the planning that was to come, Aubrey was content. Excited, even.

Comforted by the fact she’d completed all her homework for the weekend, she curled up in bed with a ballpoint pen and notebook and then, eventually, off to sleep.

* * *

To her surprise, instead of being woken by a slightly tipsy Chloe ready to discuss game plans and giggle over Beca’s adorable scowl, Aubrey’s slumber was interrupted by the shrill ring tone from her phone. Some monstrosity of an arrangement with too much wail on the electric guitar and an overzealous bass line blared out and, with the sinking feeling that came only with this sort of recognition and realization, Aubrey sighed. She propped herself in up bed, at once resenting whatever force in the universe saw fit to bestow upon a her a brother as tiresome as this.

If only to end the destruction of music coming out of her phone, she pressed the phone to her ear and answered. “This is Aubrey Posen speaking.”

“Bree-bree!” the voice said. “Heard you were finally gonna get laid!”

She hung up.

The phone rang again. Since it was still in her hand, by instinct she hit the ‘accept call’ button.

“So harsh, Bree,” the voice said, jovially, before she even drew breath. “But I hear from a little bird that there’s a _warm front_ scheduled for landfall—”

She hung up again.

It rang again. Inevitable.

“Wow, cold. What if I just didn’t mention—”

“Mention _what?_ ” she snarled down the receiver.

“—mention the exceptional weather I’m having here in Arizona and not make you jealous about dreary old Georgia.”

“Yes, that would be a wise move.” What was he even doing in Arizona, anyway? A two-hour time difference shouldn’t have accounted for his horrible timing.

“For sure. Which is why I’m taking it and not mentioning the weather. The probably very, very, hot piece of weather that you are not having. Which would be a clever pun if we were talking about something else. Even though we’re not.”

“You really shouldn’t. Because I’m not. And it’s not funny or clever.”

“Really?”

“Really, it’s not. “

“No, really you’re not having any…weather.”

“I’m not.”

“Not having _any_?”

“N-no,” Aubrey almost stuttered. Dammit. She attempted a recovery. “There’s no having.”

“Right.” Aubrey could image the eyebrow waggle and lopsided smirk he had on his face. “Having _yet_.”

“Goodbye.”

Her brother was such a tool. Or maybe just a frat boy. At this point, the two were synonyms and Aubrey happily threw around her bias.

* * *

The next afternoon Aubrey sent Chloe a long, wonderfully articulated text that basically amounted to “that was not cool, we really need to talk and I thought this being a best friend secret was implicit”. She didn’t care how much it racked up on her phone bill, or if Chloe could even read it scrolling down the tiny screen of her Blackberry but the process of writing was very cathartic.

As much as she wanted to maintain her current level of indignation, there was still a lot of first date drafting to go through so she held that thought to the side and begun plotting out a Google Map route from Beca’s dorm to the restaurant. Then the date planning started making her nervous, so she pulled out a textbook and read through the next chapter to calm her down. She really was hopeless, Aubrey thought, if she treated _studying_ as a relaxing activity.

Alternating through schoolwork, meticulous date planning (would flowers be overkill or would Beca appreciate the sentimentality?), and letting her temporary enmity towards Chloe simmer on the back burner of her mind, time flew by. Her productivity improving and Aubrey considered maybe all the excess nervous energy her pining for Beca generated could be put to good use instead of spent picking apart her attraction and examining every one of Beca’s infuriating challenges to her authority during practice.

If Aubrey ignored the Beca’s obvious distaste for her musical selection and Beca’s constant skeptical, sometimes derisive, looks, then she could focus on all the non-hate related parts of her feelings for the girl that made her stomach flutter and, to her best knowledge, were pretty much essential for fostering chemistry on a great first date (and Aubrey was an _excellent_ date, thank you very much).

It was at the end of this epiphany that she heard the familiar noise of Chloe fumbling at the door, rifling through her bag, for her keys. Of course, Chloe’s keys were still in the little key bowl by the door – a common enough occurrence for a girl who flit in and out of the place like smoke.

Aubrey usually opened the door for her, but this time she let the fumbling continue a little longer. She took a breath and swung the door open. Narrowing her eyes, she coolly regarded her friend and said, in a very level tone, “ _Chloe._ ”

“What’s up, Aubrey?” Chloe said, sensing the mood in the room immediately, but ostensibly still at a loss for the reason behind it. “I thought with all that’s happening you’d be a little happy. I mean, it’s pretty cool—”

“It’s _not cool_ , Chloe,” Aubrey said. “You told _my brother_? Really? You _told my brother about Beca_?”

Chloe’s eyes widened and Aubrey almost flinched at how _sad_ and _surprised_ she looked.

“I didn’t tell him anything!” she said, hands up in the air. “I don’t even have his number! You deleted it from my phone, like, twelve seconds after he put it on there.”

Aubrey crossed her arms and huffed. “So why did I get several _intrusive_ phone calls from him this morning?”

Chloe’s once assured posture weakened and she averted her gaze. “I may have posted a very…congratulatory facebook status that he…may have picked up on.”

“How congratulatory?” Aubrey fumbled through her bag to get her phone and opened up the appropriate app as fast as she could. “We agreed you’d be vague with all your facebook statuses! _Because of my brother_. Who you should not have friended!”

Aubrey didn’t think it was too big a demand. Chloe already posted cryptic song lyrics as statuses and expected people to understand what she meant by them and she had a boatload of friends already so why _couldn’t_ she just click ignore on _one_ , _measly_ request. ( _He has cute pictures of your childhood uploaded_ , Chloe had said. _I really wanted to see them_ , she had said. _Don’t worry, nothing bad will happen_ , she had said.)

“Aubrey, don’t be mad. I was just really happy for you,” Chloe began.

“So you felt the need to broadcast your happiness?” Aubrey said.

Chloe’s wall had finally finished loading. Her latest status was ‘ _Waffles or pancakes? Wafflancakes Y/Y?’_ and a picture of instant all purpose baking mix which Beca had, unhelpfully, liked. (Speaking of which, was Aubrey even friends with Beca on facebook? She presumed yes, since she made it habit to add all Bellas as they came and went, partially because it would make it easier to nag them about practice.) Underneath that (and a variety of game notifications and tags because Chloe’s wall saw more action than explosives in the filming of _Die Hard_ ) was another status that read ‘Congrats to Aubrey for finally getting some game ;)’ which _her brother_ had unhelpfully liked.

“You _tagged_ me?”

“I thought it was vague enough! And you _like_ tagging because it’s coordinated and let’s you keep track of things,” Chloe protested.

Aubrey softened. “No, no. Forget it. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” She sighed, heavy, and her shoulders fell with it. Chloe would be making puppy eyes any second and Aubrey was too tired to do anything but concede. “It was sort of vague. I shouldn’t have fallen for his bait. He was clearly fishing and I should no better. With any luck it’ll be over in a week.”

Chloe gasped, outraged. “With Beca?”

“What? No! No! His teasing! His _teasing_ will stop. He’ll forget about it!” Aubrey said because her brother cycled through interests like socks and his attention held just as a long. “Not Beca! I don’t even know what’s—”

She stopped because Chloe was just laughing, one hand over her mouth like she was trying to be polite about it.

“I’m just teasing, Aubrey,” said Chloe. (Aubrey could see she was resisting the temptation to say ‘ _like I’m sure you’d love to do to Beca_ ’ if only because of the strange emphasis she put on ‘teasing’. Of course.) She lowered her hand and slumped a little in her seat. “I _am_ sorry, though. I know he gives you a hard time about things.”

 _Everything_ , Aubrey wanted to correct but, to be honest, the siblings had made a game about mocking and belittling each other (respectively) ever since they figured out it made dealing with parents a little easier. Her father had taken the option fairly well, but he _said_ plenty of things – it wasn’t really the best yardstick of what he _thought_. Her brother would just be lapping that up, wouldn’t he? At last: Aubrey’s fall from grace. Or maybe just Aubrey messes up: vomit lite redux. Ugh.

But he’d shut up eventually whereas Chloe would still be there cheering her from the sidelines no matter what.

“It’s fine,” Aubrey repeated. Chloe smiled back at her. “I just can’t believe you used a winky face.”

* * *

Date night came by faster than she would have liked.

Beca had told Aubrey a time she’d be free and Aubrey had replied saying something along the lines of smart-casual being be fine since it was going to be a low-key date, no pressure.

Beca was still at a lost with what to make of her.

On the one hand, Aubrey strut around with her nose up and had this general judgmental hyper-preppy vibe to her, yet on the other, when Aubrey smiled, genuine and full of light at her saying yes, it was kind of amazing.

She’d have to be a fool not to realize Aubrey was attractive.

Beca still didn’t have a clue where this was going. She could see herself sort of liking Aubrey is spite of the slight distaste that was there. Aubrey just took everything so seriously and couldn’t abide by anyone disagreeing with her opinion (when it had to do with a cappella anyway; Beca had realized they’d never even talked outside of rehearsals, and always about the performing at that, and the activities fair).

Fine, Beca thought. Maybe she didn’t really have enough to go on with Aubrey. (She’d only learnt Aubrey’s last name from the commentary on a YouTube video, after all.) They didn’t seem like two people who could get along, but Chloe came in that same preppy bubble and she had great taste in music (something Beca could always appreciate) so who knew where the lines that divided people were?

Beca hadn’t been on a date in ages. Maybe it would be fun. Possibly.

(Probably.)

She’d mentioned the event off hand to Kimmy Jin who proceeded to make a gagging noise and cordially informed her she’d be in a friend’s room for the night. (Part of Beca knew she was doing something wrong when Kimmy Jin could crash in someone’s room and Beca didn’t know a soul, but she ignored it the way she did most things.) Even when Beca had protested, at length, that it was a first date and nothing was going to happen, her roommate had just regarded her skeptically and begun stuffing an overnight bag with stuff, not willing the risk of being in Beca’s _presence_. Then again, maybe she had plans in advance. It was sort of courteous of her roommate, she guessed, if you squinted.

Beca was expecting a text or a call from Aubrey telling her to come down for their date but, no, right on the turn of the hour, there was a knock on the door. She thought it might have been her roommate, sullenly telling her she’d forgotten something, but Kimmy Jin never bothered knocking.

Instead, it was Aubrey, impeccably dressed as could only be expected. (She had a half-grin on her face and some flowers in her hands. It was disarming, like the smile she made if a practice went well jacked up by a factor of ten with some background music thrown in – almost like a school kid out of their mind happy by some stupid little thing like the soda machine dispensing an extra can.) Gingerly, she pushed the flowers into Beca’s hands. Beca looked down at them and, on the way, her eyes flickered over the low cut of Aubrey’s dress.

“I, uh, hope it’s not too much,” she said.

“No,” Beca said, even though it kind of was. (Whether she was commenting on flowers or cleavage, she didn’t know.) She tossed the flowers onto her bed. “I’m good to go.”

“Great,” Aubrey said, looking at the flowers lying haphazardly on the bed. Beca felt a little bad, maybe, but an apology would just highlight the problem more. Aubrey seemed determine to avoid looking that way even if her eyes kept flicked over the bed, so Beca obliged her and shot back an uneasy smile.

Awkwardly, they made their way out in terse silence.

(An okayishly fun night? Not so fun? Passably fun? Beca really needed to stop being so pessimistic.)

* * *

Aubrey brought her to a fairly nice yet still casual restaurant.

The trip there rode a thin line between awkward and comfortable because they walked the whole way. (Aubrey had texted ‘comfortable shoes’ in advance too and mentioned how it was good for digestion.) It was a scenic route through campus grounds and trees dotted the path. Aubrey kept wringing her hands on the ends of her navy blue and black blazer/tux jacket/whatever (Bella colors even off duty, she supposed) and had some trouble looking Beca in the eye, especially when silences stretched out.

Aubrey asked about how her classes were going, what teachers she had and if she had a favorite spot in the library (the key was quiet, but not so secluded you accidentally found the make out territory the undergraduates circled around like vultures). Beca stalled and tried to avoid answering, but, guessing Aubrey (who seemed the GPA-obsessed type) would milk the topic for all it was worth, admitted she hadn’t been paying attention about most of them.

“Oh,” Aubrey said, freezing. It would have been fun to look at if Beca also realized that just worsened the drought of conversation topics. “Well, if you want any advice on that stuff later in the year, talk to me whenever you like,” she said, as though on autopilot. Aubrey recognized this too and made a face like she was trying to kick herself for sounding more like a student advisor than a date.

The silence again and then...

“So I heard you liking making music?” Aubrey said in a strained voice that was her trying very hard not to make it sound like a pick up line.

The problem was, though, it did sound like a pick up line even if Beca understood what she meant, and any reply she was going to give was cut short by the image of them ‘making music’ up against a tree they were walking by. It wasn’t her fault, she thought. Whenever she uncrossed her arms and the jacket got out of the way, Beca got a sight of the low-scooped neckline of Aubrey’s dress again.

“Yeah, music,” Beca said.

Aubrey coughed to clear her throat. “Music.”

“Music,” Beca repeated. “I mean, yeah, I like music. I work at the radio station.”

“Yes!” Beca thought she heard Aubrey mutter under her breath. Aubrey asked, “You know Luke, then?”

“He’s my boss,” Beca said simply.

“But is he a good one?”

“He’s...alright. We don’t really do much. I just stack CDs all day.”

“Of course. You’re an intern, I presume? A freshman too. Bottom of the food chain. It’ll take a while before Luke warms up to you, especially after his last batch defiled the area.”

“Gross.”

“Luke thought so too. That radio station is sacred to him.”

Beca raised an eyebrow. “How do you know so much about him?”

“We had some classes together a while back,” Aubrey said. Beca hoped that wasn’t code for ‘we played tonsil-hockey and bed-tag that one time’. If Aubrey could inspire irrational jealousy, than maybe the date was going better than Beca had anticipated. (It couldn’t be the case, though. Beca was just squicked out by the thought of her boss and her…a cappella team captain _together_ – that was too little separation in her worlds of music, thanks.)

“I hope he warms up a little faster. I’ve given him some mixes I made, but I don’t think he actually listens to them.”

“Mixes?”

“Yeah. That’s kind of my thing. I want to make music. I want to produce music, be a DJ, you know?”

“I don’t, actually. What’s that really mean? Being a DJ. I’m curious.”

“Oh, man, it’s great!” Beca began. _This_ she could talk about. If she held her breathe, maybe Aubrey would even find it interesting. “So right now, I’m working on this one mix, for example and—”

At that moment, a stray just of wind broke through and kicked a pile of leaves into Beca’s hair. Aubrey had, annoyingly, dodged a step away. Some of them kicked her in the eyes and Beca stumbled off the path, falling into another pile.

Beca sniffed and ran a hand through her hair to shake whatever fell in back _out_. (And it did seem like an _impossible_ amount of stuff had gotten caught in it, mostly because some ass had crushed the leaves up into tiny dust.) “God, this is so embarrassing.” It actually was. Of all the luck. A pigeon may as well have decided to shit on her. Hopefully Aubrey wouldn’t turn this into a moment to comment on how it was no surprise she was lagging behind of choreography. “I bet I look like a loser, right?”

“You don’t,” Aubrey said. There was something different in her voice. Breathy. “I think you look beautiful.”

Aubrey remained a consummate gentleman or whatever the equivalent of that was when she offered a hand and pulled Beca up in one fluid motion. Her hands hovered over her shirt for a second, before brushing her sides so faintly Beca had to concentrate to notice the skimming touches—just enough to dislodge bits of twigs and dirt.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Beca joked.

Aubrey’s hand reached out to the side of her face. It was warm.

Aubrey looked different. Out here where it was darker, the light just caught the edges of her hair and made it glow like a jagged emblem against her forehead. She smiled politely as usual but now—

(No, not a smile.)

Something in Beca’s gut coiled in anticipation.

She could feel the pads of Aubrey’s long, long fingers ghost over her hair then through it, brushing the leaves out, then tuck the stray lock behind her ear, petting it down softly. Thoughtfully, like it needed to be done _just right_. Beca tried not to focus on the little pink dot at the corner of Aubrey’s mouth that had to be her tongue, sticking out a little in her deep concentration, almost kid-ish, but too…something else for that. (Aubrey always seemed setting herself up between two impossible contrasts.)

“Come on,” she said. (Beca decided that smile could no longer be called a smile. Smirk was entirely more appropriate. Smirk hinted at all the things it held back. Darker things that weren’t at all like what her schoolgirl smiles offered.) “We’re almost there.”

* * *

The manager, a big man with a bigger voice in a white button-down and a black apron, must have known Aubrey fairly well because he was at their heels the moment Aubrey stepped through the door. He ushered them to a table and, once they sat down, he had snatched away the pre-positioned menus and ordered a busboy to throw down a slightly fancier tablecloth. Then he sent a waiter, a gangly boy with some acne, scurrying off into the corner, terrified, as he took the order notebook himself.

“Any preferences or allergies?” he said with an easy smile, looking over the two, expectant.

“Surprise me,” Aubrey say, head resting on her hands, elbows propped up on the table.

“I’m good with whatever,” Beca said.

“Excellent!” he said with a little bow. “How exciting! I’ll bring extra wine for you! Both of you!”

Beca wasn’t sure that was legal but if no one was carding, she’d be game. It was all fun and games until the manager started skipping to get out of the way of the two ‘lovebirds’.

Beca shot a look at Aubrey who looked mortified or at least caught between wanting to play if off with a smile and regretting her decision.

“I promise you the food will be worth it,” Aubrey said behind a curtain of her hands. She bit her lip (in a way Beca was definitely not finding _extremely attractive_ , nope) and gave an apologetic smile. “Probably.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Beca said. “But what are we getting into, so I know how much to pay--?”

“Forget about that,” Aubrey said. “I invited you out, so I’ll, naturally, pay.” She smirked again, but it was more tentative. (Oh fuck. There it was.) “That’s the price of making the first move.”

Beca didn’t gulp. (Of course she didn’t). She just heard herself say, “Yeah.”

* * *

The food was better than _sex_. Like, _any sex Beca had ever had_.

(She still hoped that was more of a reflection of her lack of good sex than it was about the goodness of sex in general. Aubrey’s only mildly impressed face through the night supported that theory.)

Beca’s skills as a conversationalist fell with each successive course (two waves of appetizers, apparently, because they were the most interesting part of a meal and _tasting platters_ had been assembled) but Aubrey didn’t mind it at all. She just lit up and the exchange of words became a lot freer and easier.

They just started talking about the most random things. Beca commented on the mix of ingredients and Aubrey explained it was fusion place, but not one of those pretentious places that thought mixing up styles made them intrinsically fancier than the average fare, which Beca turned into a parallel about layering together sounds in her mixes, which Aubrey listened wholeheartedly to, interjecting with the occasional question on the technicalities of extracting tracks and Beca’s the cadences Beca liked to end things on. Beca started talking about foreign instruments she’d seen one in a cool online video and Aubrey explained she knew what they actually were and where they came from, suggesting a music festival Beca might like to visit one day (an annual one in a the middle of a Borneo rainforest where traditional and pseudo-traditional and modern bands from across the globe jammed with one another in a week-long festival with plenty of drinks and food too) and they then they discussed airplanes and how (scary) loud the flush was on them and a million other stupid things (people who bent paperclips out of shape, the right way to hang toilet paper, which side of the bed was better to sleep on, weapon of choice in a zombie apocalypse and then the political ramifications of aforementioned undead uprising, the dull homogeneity of modern film) that they never really agreed on. (But, really, arguing with Aubrey about if sentient enough zombies could lobby for UN representation was the best part of the night. Aubrey’s intimate knowledge of the pump-action shotgun was also a nice surprise, even if she did get snippy with Beca over the distinction between ‘clip’ and ‘magazine’ when other guns got brought up.)

They each made singular, token, mentions of their families and avoided the topic with equal vigor. It made Beca feel at ease (since she really didn’t need to know a person’s life story nor did she care to share her own) because she didn’t feel like she was walking on eggshells, constantly having to think of a way to steer the dialogue away from ‘so how many brothers and sisters’ or ‘how’d you grow up?’ or any other family-related back story she didn’t want to think about.

A main course and two servings of dessert later (Aubrey let her steal a bite that quickly turned into half of her crème brulee) the conversation well was far from drying up but time, unfortunately was.

While Beca excused herself to the washroom, Aubrey discretely paid the cheque. As they exited the restaurant together, Aubrey shook the manager’s hand and Beca glimpsed the tip, some bank notes carefully folded into the palm, get passed across in the process. That was cool. Suave even. (Her father had tried that once, in a time that seemed miles away, but the money dropped out halfway through and Beca had laughed.)

To be honest, Beca was looking forward to the walk back. The walk to the restaurant had been a little chilly, but dinner with Aubrey had been fantastic. It was rare Beca enjoyed just _talking_ to someone and, backed by familiar décor and a supply of great food to ease the tension, Aubrey had risen to every question, matched them with her own and thrown a few smarmy quips right back at her.

Everything was great until Beca decided to try her luck and push for a chance to rearrange the set list for sectionals. (After all, Aubrey knew about her hobby…)

“Beca, you’ve never even been in a competition before,” Aubrey started. “How would you know anything about what goes into making a set list a good one?”

Fine. _Maybe_ she had a point there.

“A cappella needs to be drilled and rehearsed to sound good,” Aubrey continued. “It’s about a team working together – a single unit. The Bellas are barely a team right now: they have to know what to do themselves before they can put it together in a group. You’ll see. A cappella always makes you feel ridiculous when you’re singing alone but when everybody’s backing you up, it turns into something great.”

Beca thought back to Chloe in the shower and their brilliant harmonization of _Titanium_ and had to disagree. And also agree a little too. Picking fights with Aubrey was getting a little harder. “What about _listening_ to each other?”

“Maybe you should hold your reservations for when we’ve had more practice,” Aubrey said tightly.

Just when they were almost getting along too. There went Beca’s faith in her ability to judge character.

“It’s all the practice that’s sucking the fun out it,” Beca half-mumbled.

Aubrey heard her anyway. “You enjoy things when you’re good at them,” she said, “and you can’t get good at anything if you don’t practice.”

“Or maybe if we were just doing something other than the same eighties rehash—”

“Can we talk about something other than the set?” Aubrey snapped. She caught herself and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was like seeing a balloon deflate. She took deep, measured breaths and her eyes and posture softened. “Could we just change the subject?”

“You really are just that tense all the time, huh?”

“Aca— _Ex_ cuse me?” Aubrey said. “I’m not—Okay, I’m a little—”

“Stressed out?”

“…Yes,” she admitted, finally.

“So the vomiting…”

Aubrey groaned.

“What? You asked to change the subject.”

“Sorry for not thinking my projectile vomiting is great first date territory.”

“Who knows?” Beca said, waggling an eyebrow. “Maybe I find it endearing.”

“I can’t decide if this is reverse psychology to get me to reconsider my position on you or if you’re very bad at trying to be charming.” She cocked her head.

“You’re not such a smooth operator yourself—insulting your date,” she said and proceeded to strangle the little voice in her head that said ‘we both have trust issues; this could really go somewhere’.

Aubrey harrumphed but with a slight smile, clearly giving up the position more charming one in the relationship to Beca. _Score_.

“Puking,” Beca said.

“Hmm?” Aubrey said.

“You don’t seem to like the ‘V-word’,” Beca said with exaggerated flourish on the air quotes.

“And ‘puking’ was the best substitute you could come up with?”

Beca put hand on her heart in the best impression of an actress giving an award speech.

“I do my best,” she said, tilting her head coquettishly. “I’m just curious. How long has that been a thing? How do you even have that much in your stomach to begin with?”

Aubrey looked away awkward. “It’s got to come from somewhere,” she mumbled. “Look, this is a personal topic, so, maybe, we can save it for a second date, at least.”

“Fine,” Beca said, rolling her eyes and scoff-laughing.

“Great,” Aubrey said.

“Why are you smirking?” Smirking dangerously, Beca amended in her head.

“You just agreed to a second date.”

“Only to learn the mystery behind the gag reflex,” Beca replied a little too quickly.

“It’s not because of a gag reflex,” Aubrey said, frowning, “and mystery keeps a relationship alive. Vomiting is an awful first date topic.”

Beca scoffed. “Don’t say that! I was getting really into it.”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow but otherwise let the comment pass. “Forgive me if I say I’m a traditionalist.”

“You think the infrastructure and aftermath of zombies is too unorthodox for a first date?”

“Quite.”

Beca grinned back. “What can I say? I’m avant-garde.”

“So, a hipster then?”

Beca gagged. “Ew. Dude, no. Wait, do you even know what a hipster is?”

Aubrey shrugged. The smirk started coming back onto her face as she teased. Beca couldn’t allow that to happen. “I don’t know. The clothes seemed to fit.”

“They do not,” Beca mumbled and turned away. “Why have you put so much thought into zombies anyway?”

“Me? Why do _you_ keep bringing them up? You clearly have an obsession. I hope it’s reserved to the realm of fiction.” She raised her hands. “I’d like to think I’m open minded but—”

Beca swatted her arm.

“—it’s really because I read a few articiles on it.”

“I didn’t peg you for the magazine type.”

“That’s because I’m not. They were academic papers.”

“There are academic papers about the economic and socio-political ramifications of a zombie outbreak.”

“Yes,” Aubrey replied with the utmost seriousness. “I can recommend a you a book, if you like. It’s quite accessible even without an economic background. Targeted for mass publication, you see.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Beca said.

Aubrey seemed a little disappointed, but let it pass. She stretched and yawned and her unbuttoned jacket parted and the fabric of her dress stretched taut—

This is was unfair. How was she meant to check out her date and not feel guilty about it if Aubrey wouldn’t check her out back? She opened up her jacket a little more but it didn’t seem like Aubrey was noticing, too busy looking up at the sky.

A gust of wind cut through the trees and Beca shivered, if only in memory of the last time it had kicked a bunch of detritus into her hair.

“Are you cold?” Aubrey said.

“No,” Beca protested.

“Here,” Aubrey said anyway, offering her jacket to the other girl and quashing any hopes Beca had of getting the older girl to check out the goods.

“Aren’t _you_ cold?”

“Not really. I dressed in layers.” To illustrate her point, she peeled back one of the sleeves of her dress and revealed another thin layer of clothes. It helped Beca think more clearly, but just a little. “You didn’t? You really should.”

“No, _Mom,_ ” said Beca, petulant. “I did not _layer up_ today.”

“The trapped layers of air are a better insulator than the clothing. And if you don’t want to layer, you should really wear a scarf or something. You could get sick.” She crinkled her nose. “And don’t call me ‘Mom’. We’re on a _date_.”

“You want to be any more obvious about it?”

“I just like clarity in the status quo,” she replied. She glanced around. “Do you not? I can tone it down. Under the radar.”

“Nah,” Beca said. “I’m cool broadcasting my lady loving. And my dude loving. And my miscellaneous loving. Doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”

“Good to know,” Aubrey said and her shoulders relaxed a smidge.

“Besides, you’re the one who should this low key. You’re totally robbing the cradle with this, admittedly hot, fresh meat.”

“Comedians,” Aubrey said, “I’m surrounded by comedians.”

She slung her jacket over Beca’s shoulders. Beca’s fingers curled round it, noting how it was still warm. A lot about Aubrey was, actually, if you kept looking.

* * *

Aubrey walked her all the way back to the dorm room.

She made polite conversation and terrible a cappella puns all the way. They were almost endearing if only because of how it reflected how hard Aubrey was trying. Aubrey had to appreciate this too because they just progressively worse until they were so bad Beca had to let out a little laugh here and there (and there were a lot if words you could add 'a ca' to).

Finally, they reached the inside of Baker Hall. The dorm was quiet, still in the eerie twilight zone where the diligent freshman were holed away in their rooms asleep and the less diligent vacating their rooms in search for partying grounds. Beca was thankful for the timing and a part of her guessed Aubrey planned it as such to avoid any less than flattering questions about a senior roaming the freshman turf.

“I fully expect to be wooed the next time we go out,” Aubrey said, smirking. She had her jacket back, neatly folded across her arms because putting it on would have been too long a break in their conversation.

“Haven’t decided if you earned it yet,” Beca retorted.

Aubrey made a look of mock surprise and opened the door for her, gesturing her to enter.

“You know, this _is_ the first date, right?” Beca said, stepping through the doorway. She wasn’t shaking in anticipation, not in the slightest and certainly not at the sight of the long length of Aubrey’s neck, stretched taut as she held her head up in a smug contentment, eyes a little dark. She swallowed, and sunk down into her chair, crossing her arms, staring at Aubrey.

Aubrey who just laughed a little and said, “Good night, Beca.”

Then, still smirking, she turned round and closed the door.

Beca held her breath until she couldn’t hear footsteps in the corridor anymore.

* * *

The door swung unceremoniously open and slammed against the wall with a nasty crash that made Chloe concerned for her deposit on the place. Aubrey must have kicked it in and if Aubrey was kicking things, then it was the time for melodrama. Whether it was the drama of triumph or defeat was anybody’s guess.

“I’m such a creep!” Aubrey declared or, rather, that was Chloe’s best guess of what she declared since she, at the same time, smothered her face in a pillow and collapsed into a dignified heap on the bed. That was answered the triumph or defeat question quite well. Absently, Chloe wondered if Aubrey didn’t enter relationships very often because they made her regress into a stroppy teenager.

“Well, you didn’t sexually harass her in the shower, so I think you’re good,” Chloe chipped in.

Aubrey peeled back the pillow far enough to give a withering glare with one eye. “I really, _really_ want to, uh…”

“Nail her?” Chloe offered.

“Yes,” Aubrey admitted with all the vigor of someone who had just found the answer to a crossword puzzle clue crossed with degree of shame. “I haven’t even taken her out on a third date yet and I kept wanting to stare down her shirt! I’m awful! I was terrible company! Terrible, harassing company!”

“You didn’t look at her boobs before?” Chloe said.

“What? No? When would I have had time to look at her boobs? Wait. Were _you_ checking her out? You said nothing happened in the shower,” she said, tapering off into a whine. Chloe made the most uncomfortably accurate observations about every boy and/or girl Aubrey had ever showed remote interest in.

“When she was auditioning,” Chloe explained patiently. “I mean, she bent over to get the cup and they were _right there_.” That was code for: no one can blame me for looking, you didn’t tell me you liked her yet.

“What? No,” Aubrey said. “The auditions were business. I had more important things to be thinking about than checking her out.”

“Ah,” Chloe said. “Distracted by her voice. It _was_ pretty great?”

“Huh?” Aubrey said. It was the most out-of-it Chloe had ever seen her be in a conversation. Even drunk, Aubrey kept pretty good track of things. “What? No, no, not her voice. She had my cup so I was kind of annoyed.”

“ _Really_ , Aubrey?” Chloe said. “Her boobs were _right there in your face_ and you focus on the cup?”

“I’ve had that cup since I was _six_ ,” Aubrey defended. “She just took it! And spilled my pens everywhere! And she didn’t even pick them up again! Besides, we were _working_. It was auditions. I needed my head in the game.”

“So, what,” Chloe said, “your head being ‘in the game’ magically makes her boobs disappear?”

“I was focused! It was _not the time_ to let emotions run wild with that sort of thing. We had eight recruits to identify and train up and a _very finite_ amount of time to do it all it. Of course I _recognize_ that she has breasts.”

“Okay, fine,” Chloe said, pretending she understood any part of Aubrey’s explanation. “So if they weren’t a problem then why are they a problem now.”

“They’re not a problem,” Aubrey said, “I can’t _blame_ another person for being physically attractive. It’s that sort of though that perpetuates an unhealthy culture shaming female sexuality and—”

“ _Aubrey_ ,” Chloe cut in. “What does this have to do with Beca?”

Aubrey took in a breath and composed herself. “We were on a _date_ ,” she said. “I wasn’t in captain mode. I was in date mode. So I started noticing things and getting distracted by things and started getting distracted by my wanting to do certain things.”

“Do things like Beca’s awesome rack?” Chloe just couldn’t help herself. She’d probably regret how the statement would bring Aubrey’s talky-feely time to a halt (and a part of her cursed herself for ruining one of the rare moments Aubrey was even half-willing to share her emotions) but the look on Aubrey’s face was priceless.

“Stop talking about her boobs!”

“Fine!” Chloe said.

Placated, Aubrey sank deeper into her bed. “Why can’t I just turn off all the jerk parts of me when I need to?” she whined.

“I will never understand how much you compartmentalize,” Chloe said. “Isn’t it _tiring_?”

“It’s efficient,” was Aubrey’s curt answer. She changed the subject the way she always did whenever Chloe wanted to talk about substantial feelings. “Anyway, you’re not helping! I was complaining about what a creep I am.”

Chloe suppressed a sigh. “Okay, Aubrey,” she said. “Please tell me. I would love to know what an awful human being you are.”

Aubrey glared back, half-hearted. "As I was saying, I was a terrible date. I wasn’t prepared for it at all, Chloe. I mean, I though I’d talk to her about school or something to warm up but she didn’t even like that. I should have been prepared for that but instead I just rambled about TA schedules and floundered around for fifteen minutes contemplating if I should delve into the second date box of topics.”

“Did you?” Chloe bit.

“I did. And I should have done it sooner! I made her sit through all these awkward pauses…and just kept talking about myself. And school. _Why do I always talk about school?_ And _zombies_. Not even the TV show—just, like, weird— _Economics and politics is really just part of school isn’t it?_ That’s what happens when it’s your degree. So, really, the whole night I just wouldn’t shut up about _school_. I _always_ do this.”

Chloe just nodded blankly. Aubrey took it as a prompt to continue.

“And I couldn’t stop smiling,” Aubrey said.

“That’s generally a good thing,” Chloe said. “Your smile’s pretty great when you actually, you know, _use it_.”

Aubrey just scowled. “It wasn’t even a friendly kind of smile. It was this weird smirk thing. I think I looked like I was about to push her up against a wall the whole time.” She buried her face in her hands. “Oh my god I am such a creeper. Beca’s just a little freshman baby and I kept making predatory faces at her all night _what have I done_?”

Chloe took in the sight of her best friend on the brink of hyperventilating and decided, yes, Aubrey did not date because the very thought of relationships regressed her to a hopeless teenager. It was simultaneously adorable and exasperating, which really were words that were, more often than not, used to describe Aubrey’s opinion of _her_. It was sort of a surreal moment.

“No, seriously, _what have I done_ , Chloe? Now _both_ of us have harassed her and— ughhhhh.” There she went, face, getting pinker and pinker by the second, buried in her hands again.

“Look,” Chloe stated, calmly gripping Aubrey’s wrists with her hands. She lowered them until Aubrey could look her in the eye. “Firstly, I doubt Beca is going to think of _either_ situation as harassment and I’m sure you’re blowing everything up over proportion. Secondly, Beca probably loved going out with you and, if not, I’m sure she didn’t _hate_ it. So you need to calm down and not beat yourself up over every little thing you _think_ you did. Are we clear?”

Aubrey nodded vigorously and then composed herself.

“Thirdly, Aubrey, we _are_ in college so if you want to sleep with Beca, and there’s no reason you shouldn’t feel bad about wanting to, why don’t you just go for it?”

Aubrey shot straight up with an affronted look on her face. “I am a _lady_ ,” she began, “and I am not just going to exploit a naïve, innocent freshman for sex!”

‘It’s not exploitation if you’re both really into it, maybe you should just let go of that rule for Beca since you’ve clearly let go of a lot of other rules for her’ was what Chloe wanted to say, only slightly more than ‘did you just call Beca a naïve, innocent freshman?’ but she sensed Aubrey was really in more of a speech mood so she held it back.

“Whenever _Aubrey Posen_ is involved in a relationship there is _wooing_ –intense, logistically thorough _wooing_ because _I_ am a charming and sophisticated young lady and I am going to _date the shit_ out of Beca Mitchell, getting to know her as a fully realized person whose opinions and feelings merit recognition and respect and throwing so much romance in the air John Cusack in ‘Say Anything’ can go _suck it_ —” she inhaled sharply (for air and not to choke down vomit, Chloe hoped) “—because, yeah, that’s right! I’m going to date the pants off Beca Mitchell! Literally!”

“That’s nice,” Chloe conceded. “Maybe you should hold that thought until tomorrow and go to bed.”

“I can’t,” Aubrey said. “I need to make a list of everything I did wrong so I can go over it tomorrow. If I do this quickly enough, I’ll probably be able to remember the exact words.”

“I _just told you_ not to over-think!”

“I heard you,” Aubrey said, diplomatic. “That’s why this is just an objective list of things I did. The evaluation can come tomorrow when I’ve had time to _ruminate_.”

“ _Aubrey_ ,” Chloe warned.

“If I don’t draft performance evaluations, how am I meant to keep track of how well I’m doing?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe said. “Maybe just let things progress naturally? Listen to your gut?”

Aubrey blanched. “I’m not going to leave any relationship of mind to the winds of _chance_. I’ve _got this_.”

“Relationships are meant to be relaxing, you know,” Chloe said.

“I’m totally relaxed. I mean— I will be totally relaxed. Once I write this list.”

There was no way to win, was there? Regardless of what was said, Aubrey would find some loophole in Chloe’s advice and fret her way into the night.

Resigned, Chloe just said, “As long as you do it quietly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Aubrey mentions is real. It’s called ‘Theories of International Politics and Zombies’ by Daniel W Drezner.
> 
>  
> 
> Aubrey is that person who takes everything too seriously and picks apart plot holes in media until all the fun is sucked out (or added, depending on your point of view). Aubrey is that person who, when people make off hand comments, thinks really hard about what they meant and what could hypothetically happen as a result, just in case. Aubrey tries really hard.
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter was a lot longer than planned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually going to wait to post this next week but I thought everyone could use a pick me up. I could, at least. Sorry for the delays and the lack of the funny. 
> 
> I feel like this is the moment to point out I have arcs planned an emotional payoff? As always, feedback would be swell.

Out of all the roommates she'd had in her four years at Barden, Chloe considered Aubrey to be the most reliable. She delivered the rent  _early_ , always made sure there was milk in the fridge, and came back home with just the right cheap takeout every Thursday when neither of them could muster up the effort to cook. Aubrey kept a schedule with regularity that put Japanese train services to shame. Once, Chloe had even set her watch to Aubrey's return home (exactly six thirty pm on Tuesdays after a prolonged Philosophy class on the other side of campus). Aubrey and reliable went hand in hand.

So, it may have sounded ridiculous to anyone else, but Chloe was getting concerned. At first, Aubrey had been twenty minutes late to their usual Thursday dinner date. That was fine. Chloe had hardly noticed, buried in a pile of homework she'd put off for too long. Then twenty minutes became forty minutes and Chloe was reminded by a pang of hunger that it was about time for dinner. Then forty minutes became and hour and she started wondering where Aubrey was. Then an hour turned into an hour and a half. Aubrey didn't reply to an of her texts, didn't pick up her phone, didn't seem to be anywhere in sight and Chloe—

Chloe felt unsettled. Calling in for some pizza would be simple but figuring out where the hell Aubrey  _was_  seemed like the more pressing matter. But there was also that gnawing hunger in her stomach...

Thankfully, before any assessments on Chloe's questionable judgment could be made, she heard the familiar clatter of keys in the door. The jangling was much more awkward than usual, lasting a lot longer too, and for a bit Chloe's heart leapt up into her throat at the thought of a madman swiping Aubrey's keys and breaking into the house. The worry was quickly relieved, however, when the door creaked open and Aubrey walked through, toting several heavy-looking plastic bags that smelt distinctly of greasy Chinese food.

That was point two in a list of causes to worry. In addition to the stress vomiting, Aubrey had something of a stress-eating habit. (Actually, the majority of Aubrey's habits were related to stress: the cleaning, the pacing, the default to overtly formal language and an emotional shutdown to a courteous, oddly Stepford persona.) In any case, the sheer  _volume_  of food as well as the clogged arteries Chloe could already feel coming (Aubrey usually liked to go for the Chinese two blocks from where she picked up her dry-cleaning since they took it a little easier on the oil but, when in a mood, went to the other one opposite the coffee shop that drowned their food in every tasty unmentionable) were indicators of a problem.

"You and Beca get along," Aubrey said casually, before even mentioning how terrible her day was or why Chloe had harangued her phone with a dozen missed calls and texts. She was, at once, suspicious.

This brought her to point three: Aubrey was being terribly nonchalant. Aubrey did not wear nonchalance well. Not in the slightest. All the points together were major cause for concern.

"So," Aubrey continued, unpacking the food onto plates. She abhorred eating out of the packages like 'common heathens' she had once said, almost painfully un-ironic. "Could you ask after me?"

"'Ask after you'?" Chloe said. "Did you just step out of Victorian novel?"

"I may have been researching the subject," Aubrey said. Chloe pledged to hide all her books the next time she was alone in the house. Jane Austen tended to make Aubrey a little weepy.

"Shouldn't you just ask her yourself?" Chloe said. Sometimes, pointing out the obvious to Aubrey was useful. She had a tendency to miss the forest for the trees.

"For serious, Chloe, even I know that crosses a line," Aubrey protested. "I can't just interrogate her about our date. That sends off the wrong impression."

"So you want  _me_  to interrogate her?"

"I'm not asking for a full survey with questions answered on a scale of one to ten," Aubrey said. "I just want some qualitative data. Like, an interview. Only, I know recording your conversation would be both a breach of trust and intimacy, so you can just have a conversation and then tell me all about it."

"And that's  _not_  crossing the line?" Chloe said.

"You are my best friend," Aubrey said, gravely. She looked Chloe straight in the eye with that level stare that was incapable of taking 'no' for an answer. Chloe felt like she was looking into the eyes of someone on death row. "Help me. Please."

"Fine," Chloe relented. "But only because I was going to hang out with Beca anyway."

 

* * *

 

Chloe should have been happy. While Aubrey had rejected Beca, rather furiously, at the activities fair, Chloe was convinced the brunette would be a welcome addition to the Bellas. Now Beca was on the Bellas, she was becoming good friends with Beca, and Beca and Aubrey were actually sort of getting along.

It was a minor miracle making  _any_  mutual friends with Aubrey. Third parties commented they were like chalk and cheese and, sans the world of a cappella, they ran in very different circles.

Beca was special. When they sang in the shower, they'd connected on some intangible level beyond the harmonization of their voices and the excellent acoustics of the shower. To be cliché, there was something  _there_  between them she couldn't quite put her finger on…

By all counts, Chloe should have been  _ecstatic_.

And yet she wasn't.

She had the inkling feeling her discontent was caused by Aubrey's early wake-up call. Accidental, she said, and maybe it had been: Aubrey was pacing up and down the room, dusting the shelves and sweeping under the bed even though it wasn't Tuesday. Aubrey's nervous ruckus woke her up, anyway, earlier than Chloe would have liked. (At least Aubrey had made breakfast as part of a last-ditch appeasement policy when Chloe had left the shower with a tad more grumble than usual.)

Whatever the cause of her less than sparkling mood, it shouldn't have been anything some good lunch and a milkshake couldn't cure. (Despite her breakfast peace offering, Aubrey had refused to allow Chloe to drown her pancakes in syrup where 'a drizzle' would have sufficed.)

Still, food always made things better. (Food and music were, incidentally, the two things that had kickstarted Aubrey and Chloe's friendship in the first place.)

Chloe settled into her booth. The place she'd chosen for their lunch date was an old family-run diner. Chloe had been there so many times the waiting staff knew her by name. She liked going there mostly because it was one of the only places Aubrey would be caught dead eating fries (double-fried for extra crispness because, even in the case of clogging up your arteries, Aubrey Posen believed in going big or going home).

She tapped her fingers idly on the table, flicking through the menu even though she knew what she wanted. It'd be fun to see what Beca picked. Maybe something chocolate-y for a milkshake (they were the best, Chloe would  _make_  her order one) and then maple-glazed burgers? Or maybe she'd look at the specials. Hmm. What kind of a potato girl was Beca? Mashed or fried? All the possibilities…

"Sorry I'm late," Beca said, clambering in. She heaved a heavy looking messenger bag over her shoulder and onto the seat next to her before sitting down opposite Chloe. "I couldn't find the place. I googled the place and it said it was on Peachtree Avenue, I think, but it turned out I got the wrong Peachtree insert street name here."

"Oh, we live in Atlanta," Chloe said, giggling. " _All_  the streets are Peachtree something."

"Why'd you pick somewhere off-campus anyway?" Beca said.

"I promised myself I'd eat all the good food in Atlanta before I graduated," Chloe said. "This is one of the best restaurants I've ever been to and there are fourteen menu items I need to try before I leave."

Beca laughed. "Pretty organized of you."

"Aubrey helped," Chloe said. "She made a checklist and everything. She didn't like the way I was doing things."

"Sounds like something she'd do."

"Speaking of Aubrey, how'd the date with her go?"

"It was…interesting," Beca reluctantly replied. "I didn't go the way I thought it might."

"So good?" Chloe poked Beca in the arm to emphasize the point. "Bad?"

"Good," Beca confirmed. "Aubrey wasn't what I expected."

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know. It just didn't seem like she liked me, but it was actually really nice."

"Nice?"

"Yeah," Beca said a little dreamily. "Nice."

The look on her face was too cute. Chloe knew better than to push Beca over the tipping point of embarrassment into silence, especially given how Aubrey was desperate for some information, so she didn't comment. Instead she just grinned back until Beca's shy smile grew into a match it.

"Ooh.  _Nice,_ " Chloe teased glancing down at Beca's chest.

"Not like that!" Beca protested.

"So nice like  _how_  then?" Chloe said.

Beca flushed. It took some gentle prodding but Chloe managed to pry details from her about how Aubrey offered her a jacket and walked her home and how Beca what they talked about was pretty interesting. She talked at length, all through the serving of their food and drinks, about how Aubrey was a lot more than she seemed and how much of a dork she really was and how, distressingly, she really like that about her.

"So it was really nice," Beca concluded.

Chloe smiled. "I'm happy for you guys then."

Beca fiddled with the straw of her drink. "There was something weird, though."

"What do you mean weird?" Chloe said. Aubrey was a little, well,  _intense_ , but gradual exposure took the edge off of most of Aubrey's sometimes hurtful frankness. Maybe Beca was the sort of person who could be endeared to it too.

"It's just college and people have more space now, right?" Beca said. "It's just I haven't heard from her at all."

"She hasn't spoken to you since?"

"Well, I got one text from her and sent a reply but she didn't reply to that yet."

"Really?" That didn't seem right. Aubrey was up in arms about how the date went. As far as she could recall, it was Aubrey's standard MO to send a 'thank you' text to all her dates in an attempt to spark a bit of 'follow-up dialogue', whatever that was. It was good to know that Beca hadn't been drowned in a deluge of text messages but the radio silence didn't sit well either.

"I kind of sort of may have talked about her vomiting a lot," Beca said. "She's not too sensitive about that is she?"

"I'm sure that's not it," Chloe said. "Aubrey likes you loads."

Beca squirmed in her seat, quiet.

If it wasn't already clear to Chloe that Beca and Aubrey were suited to one other, this cinched it. Chloe had never seen two people so bad at communicating before in her life.

It was at that moment the waiter took his cue to serve them. Chloe rattled out her order while Beca skimmed the menu and went for a special. Chloe ordered her a milkshake despite her protests because they were the best and she knew better, she  _insisted_. She smiled at the waiter and told him to supersize those drinks, pretty please, and he was more than happy to comply for a regular customer and departed.

Beca looked a little taken aback by her forwardness.

"Like I said, I come here a lot," Chloe said. "The food's  _really good_  and the wait staff is pretty cute too."

"I guess so," Beca said.

Chloe unfolded her napkin. "Just so you know, though, I don't think you should bring up Pukegate in future."

Beca blinked. "Pukegate?"

"Like Watergate. That's what all the aca-people were calling it after last year. There was even a message board discussing it."

"There are people who take it that seriously?"

"It was totally serious," Chloe said gravely. "A cappella is an intense thing. The Finals at Lincoln Centre are a big deal and we really want to get there again this year. It's all we're been working for. Aubrey feels terrible about what happened last year. I know she's not going to feel better until we get past the Semis. We were so close to being the first ever all-female group to win the ICCAs! She was so excited back then. We were going to make history."

"Oh," Beca said.

Chloe pursed her lips trying to decipher Beca's expression. On the surface of it, it looked like her same old neutral expression. With a bit more examination, Chloe could see traces of a doubt and surprise creeping into it. Chloe didn't know Beca half as well as she did Aubrey, but she could still guess the other girl was unsettled.

"It's going to be tons of fun," Chloe assured. "The rehearsal schedule is pretty intense but I know the performance is going to turn out great."

Beca relaxed but looked skeptical. "We're not sounding that great now."

Chloe laughed. "I just have to keep you all motivated until you see how good you are. The beginning part's the hardest, especially if you've never done a cappella before. We really have to lock it in." She clicked her fingers "It's cakewalk from there! Or that's what it'll feel like, anyway."

Beca raised an eyebrow. "You sound really confident."

"Aubrey will have everyone whipped into aca-amazing shape! We'll be great or we'll die trying."

"Aubrey's a real drill sergeant," Beca said. "Is that really the way things are run?"

"Aubrey's just passionate about the group. She comes on a little strong. You'll see. She's taking it easy on you guys now to ease you into the affair."

"This is  _taking it easy?_ "

"You weren't here last year," Chloe said. "When the Bellas were all veterans, things got  _really_  intense. It was legit  _war_."

"Not helping Aubrey's case much."

"Okay, let's put it this way. You really shouldn't worry about Aubrey," Chloe said. "She's a real softie at heart. A genuine marshmallow."

"That's nice," Beca replied absently.

"And you, Beca," Chloe continued, jabbing a fork in her direction for emphasis, "are the warm campfire that marshmallow is roasting on, melting it into a soft, gooey mess."

"Wait, what?"

"I'm not sure where this metaphor is going either," Chloe said. "Never mind."

 

* * *

 

When Chloe returned from lunch with Beca, Aubrey had been camped out on the table in the shared kitchen/living space. She had a textbook open with a highlighter in it as a bookmark and notebook open beside that. Chloe guessed she must have been waiting like that a long time. She pounced, demanding an immediate intelligence report ASAP before catching herself and offering Chloe a warm drink (on the condition that report would be coming).

The buzz Chloe had gotten from aimlessly talking about music and hometowns with Beca fizzled. Aubrey pouted at her in a way she reserved for times she was truly, deeply  _desperate_. People may have said Chloe's puppy dog look was impossible to refuse, but that was only because they'd never seen  _Aubrey's_. She was really just shameless now, pleading with Chloe to tell her  _everything_   _right this second because that was the most efficient course of action, yes?_

So, of course, Chloe, sucker as she was for anything cute and looking her direction, sat down next to her and talked.

And talked.

And talked in detail to answer all the pedantic questions Aubrey had.

"You said I was a  _what_?"

"A marshmallow," Chloe said. "Anyway that's not important."

Aubrey quirked an eyebrow, as if to say  _Marshmallow? Really? I hope I was low-calorie at the least._

"She also had a few things to say about Bellas," Chloe started. "Some suggestions."

That was sort of true. They'd talked around the Bellas at lunch, even if most of it was about Aubrey. The way Chloe saw it, since Aubrey liked Beca so much, maybe she'd finally warm up to some of Chloe's ideas if she saw Beca like them too. Chloe had done her best friend duty of getting the details of Beca's thoughts. Buttered up Aubrey would, sometimes, be more receptive to musical suggestions.

Aubrey bit her tongue. Then she said, "Suggestions?

"Like a music upgrade," Chloe said. "We could mix it up a little bit. Or, like I was telling you the other day, change practice around a bit."

"Beca doesn't know what she's talking about," Aubrey said. "She should save her criticisms for  _after_  she actually does a competition performance."

"I just think—"

"You think she's planning on usurping leadership, hijacking the Bellas and replacing our ladies' pop ballads with wubs?"

"What?" Chloe shook her head. How did Aubrey even know what wubs were? It wasn't the time for that conversation. Aubrey's panache for derailing uncomfortable discussion knew no bounds. "No, that's not what I'm saying. You're totally missing the point."

"So if that's not the point, then what is?"

"The point is she said she had a good time with you."

"'Good'?" Aubrey repeated thoughtfully. "Was that the exact word she used? 'Good'?"

"Well…"

"Chloe." Aubrey gripped her shoulders with both hands and looked her straight in the eye. "Was that the word she used?"

"She said 'nice'," Chloe replied. "She said it was 'nice'."

Aubrey grimaced. "Nice? Well, I could have done worse than 'nice'. 'Nice' certainly isn't 'good' but it's…nice."

"Aubrey?"

"I'm fine." Aubrey crossed her arms. "'Nice' is fine. Sure, it's not  _good_  but I can live with nice. 'Nice' is better than 'okay', right?"

"I'm sure 'nice' means 'fantastic' in the world of Beca," Chloe said. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Her fascination with your vomit doesn't mean anything."

"I'm not beating myself up about anything," Aubrey huffed. "I'm 'nice'! That's fantastic! And we didn't even talk about vomit that much!"

She stormed out of the room and slammed the door. Aubrey being Aubrey, it was just enough to be recognized as a slam but not loud enough to disturb the neighbors.

"Aubrey, wait!" Chloe shouted.

It was too late. Aubrey had stalked off too cool her head. It was a familiar arrangement. She'd be back within the next twenty minutes, composed as though nothing had happened. Distressing as the system seemed, it worked well and Chloe had never really figured out a way to change it or call Aubrey out on a way to change it.

Chloe rubbed her throat. The last bit of yelling had made it a little hoarse and all the singing was making it sore too. She must have had a dozen lozenges in the past two days but it didn't feel much better. Perhaps a visit to the doctor was finally in order.

 

* * *

 

The Sigma Beta Theta gig was around the corner and Aubrey had not let up in the slightest. If anything, the nervousness was driving her to run everyone ragged. There were only so many reassuring smiles Chloe could offer to diffuse the tension in the room before Aubrey snapped at people to concentrate. Chloe felt, maybe, something should be done about the way practice was being run.

"Maybe we should take five," she said. Aubrey didn't seem to notice. She tried again, "Aubrey?"

"Let's go, let's go, let's go," Aubrey chanted, oblivious to suggestions. "One more lap!"

How many laps had they run through the rehearsal space? Aubrey was experimenting with a new system. Every time  _any_ person messed up,  _everyone_  would have to run a lap. She found their cardio lacking. (No one dared mention they weren't adding their own to the mix.) Chloe supposed, in some part of Aubrey's hyper-disciplined mind, she thought it would help build group spirit, or at least a bigger motivation not to get lynched by the collective for underperforming. All it was really building now was resentment for Aubrey.

"Beca, speed it up," Aubrey barked. "No slacking. Let's move, people.  _Move it_."

Chloe had been thankfully excused from making any more circuits. She counted her blessings. She assumed, like Aubrey, she'd been charged with ensuring everyone ran fast enough. Aubrey seemed to have that job well under control, though.

As the Bellas closed the end of their lap, Aubrey clicked her tongue in disapproval. There were maybe two minutes for everyone to catch their breath before she called people into positions to do a run through of the set.

Things did not let up.

"Stop!" Aubrey called suddenly, half way between a choreographed turn. "Stop, stop, stop. I can hear you all off-pitch. Jessica, you're sharp. Denise, you're not on the beat. Stacie, for the  _last time,_  grope yourself in your own time."

She clapped her hands. It was more like a boom of thunder than anything else. Chloe swore could hear the windows rattle in their frames.

"Again!"

Aubrey refrained from participating in the steps this time. Chloe filled the leadership void, stepping into the center of the formation. She could feel the girls behind her shiver as Aubrey glared them into position.

They ran through the entire run of 'Turn the Beat Around' once and ended with their jazz hands. Aubrey continued to stare at them, arms crossed tightly, frown firmly embedded.

"We're a mess," she declared.

Jessica looked like she was going to burst into tears. Ashley was rubbing her back and trying to say something comforting. When Aubrey decided she'd sufficiently let them all stew in their failure and self-loathing (as much of it as she could engender anyway), she finally said, "Let's call it for today."

The whole room gave a collective sigh of relief. Chloe had to concentrate to not sigh with them; Aubrey was watching.

"Remember to go through the routine at least once before the performance," Aubrey said. "We're meeting here and then heading to the SBT house together so we'll all arrive on time. If anyone is late, there  _will_  be consequences. Get a good night's sleep for the gig."

As the Bellas trailed out of the rehearsal hall, she saw Beca hang back as she alternated between packed into her bag too slowly and a glancing up at Aubrey's back.

Aubrey didn't seem to notice. She was still caught up leafing through sheet music and consulting the paper personal organizer she carried around. She rearranged some post-it notes in the diary with a frown, back to the rest of the retreating girls. When enough time passed and Beca sluggishly packed the last of her things away, she heaved an exaggerated sigh and walked out of the room with heavy footsteps. Still, Aubrey paid her no mind.

"Aubrey?" Chloe said, approaching her.

"We're doomed," Aubrey muttered, furiously rubbing the last set of choreography sketches off the board. "We're doomed and we're going to be humiliated and it's going to be entirely my fault again."

"Just relax, Aubrey." It was the best piece of advice Chloe could offer. There was nothing to do but wait now anyway. Chloe had been doing a lot of that as of late too. The only slot free for a doctor's appointment was the morning before the SBT gig. Oh well. She could power through until then.

"I can't relax," Aubrey said. "We have tradition to uphold and a legacy to ensure. They're not- they're not ready. I didn't get them ready."

"You've run them ragged. The routine is in their heads. We've got this," Chloe assured. "Like I told you before, I have a feeling we're going to be aca-awesome."

 

* * *

 

They weren't.

 

* * *

 

When Beca signed up to join an a cappella group, she never thought this would be her first experience of a performance. A cappella itself didn't seem that interesting. The bland, mellow arrangement they were meant to perform didn't help matters, nor did their lackluster execution of it. A cappella seemed no less lame then her initial assumptions had granted.

When Beca sang with Chloe in the shower, awkward as it was, she hoped it could mean something. Music was meant to be music, after all and in that shower stall, good acoustics or not, something intangible and indescribably just  _clicked_. It was going to be about the music. Have some fun here, maybe meet some people there, get a ticket to LA. Beca was totally up for making music but this music… Well…

"I hope you remember how you feel right now so you never want to feel like this again!" Aubrey barked as she marched her disgraced tropes away from the fraternity yard. They'd practically been laughed out of the place in a show so horrendous payment wouldn't be coming through.

It was too early in the year for the proper Bella uniforms to have been ordered an assigned (and to say the usual surplus stock for the occasion weren't the right sizes was a gross understatement) so they'd made do with navy blue cardigans thrown over the shirts. To Beca, the whole look was only marginally less flight-attendant chic.

"First off, let's make a list of everything we did wrong." She exhaled deeply. "No, that would take to long."

 _What a way to build up team morale_ , Beca thought. The uptight criticism and strict standards were more like her initial impression of Aubrey: all ruthless efficiency and no fun. It was still a jarring dissonance between the Aubrey she'd seen on their date and she didn't know what to make of it.

"Chloe, don't look like that," Aubrey continued. "You're supposed to be setting an example. For serious, Chloe, get your head in the game. Your voice didn't sound Aguilerian at all."

Chloe sunk visibly at the comment, staring even more intently at her shoes.

Distress flicked over Aubrey's eyes and she lowered her voice a tone, hissing at her co-captain, "Chloe? What it  _wrong_  with you? You—"

"I have nodes!" Chloe declared.

Aubrey looked aghast. In a flash, any trace of anger vanished from her face She took a step forward and a tight grip on Chloe's hands, flashing a small smile of reassurance at her before worry overtook her face again.

"What are nodes?" Beca asked bluntly, sizing up the way the two were holding hands.

"Vocal  _nodules_ ," Aubrey articulated. She gave some sort of a medical explanation after that but Beca, to her shame and disgust, had grown a little too distracted to catch the nuances.

On some level, even if she didn't quite get how bad nodes were meant to be, Beca knew this was a tragic and personal situation. Illness was illness and Chloe, usually sunshine and happiness personified, looked  _pale_  with worry.

"Is that okay?" Beca said. "Can Chloe really keep singing?"

"I  _love_  to perform," Chloe said, holding back tears. "Nothing could make me stop."

"You are bigger than this," Aubrey said, gripping Chloe's hands a little tighter.

"Right. I can do this," Chloe went on. "I am a survivor."

Despite knowing there was a need for propriety, Beca couldn't stop staring down Aubrey's shirt. More specifically, dwelling on the fact she could see Aubrey's bra down her super unbuttoned shirt.

The sight of the Bellas uniform had, at first sight, sent a shock of revulsion and embarrassment through Beca but she had to admit Aubrey filled out the blue very well. Beca herself had to be coaxed into unbuttoning anything past the second by Chloe but Aubrey, perhaps in compensation for everyone  _else's_ awkwardness about the regulatory Barden Bella cleavage requirement, had maybe gone just a tad overboard.

Beca was torn between  _telling_  her and  _not_ telling her so she could keep watching. It was at this point Beca knew she was ruined. This was ridiculous and they hadn't even had a first kiss. Aubrey was being patently  _unfair._ There was some sort of conversation going on, she was vaguely aware, but, even as much as she liked Chloe, the whole thing seemed melodramatic. They were just an a cappella group. No big deal if they didn't  _do_  anything, right?

"At least it's not herpes," Fat Amy pitched in. "Or do you have that as well?"

Aubrey glared at the comment on Chloe's behalf.

Oh, god. Now Beca wouldn't be able to think of Aubrey without thinking of herpes for the rest of the day. Actually, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. Aubrey was taking up a lot of space recently. Herpes was a pretty bad image. Maybe it'd be enough of a disincentive to think about Aubrey.

Chloe mumbled some more assurances, trying to clear up the rancor of Aubrey's mood and their undoubtedly poor performance. It was a veritable speech on the importance of friendship and practice and trying so after-school special Beca barely registered it. Chloe managed to pry some small smiles onto formerly disheartened places while Aubrey quietly had an aside with Fat Amy.

Really, that was all  _Beca_  could concentrate on. Watching the two of them talk out of the corner of her eye, Beca realized 'aside' may have been too forgiving a word. Aubrey grit her teeth and held her head high, sniffing disdainfully. She and Amy exchanged some words that left Amy with her tail between her legs, visibly wilting. 'Herpes' was mentioned more than once, from what Beca's limited lip reading skills could ascertain. The words 'forgiven' and 'watching you' were also said. Amy just nodded vigorously throughout but relaxed when Aubrey clapped a hand on her should and pointed to the other Bellas with a resigned smile.

They regrouped all together and, after a few biting words about Aubrey 'expecting them to do much better in future' (and a glare that promised they'd all be held to that standard) they were dismissed.

Since there was only one road back from this part of campus to the dorms, the effect wasn't particularly dramatic as everyone kept walking down the same stretch of cobbled pavement. Everyone sans Aubrey and Chloe seemed desperate to run away. That proved difficult given how no one had the heart to overtake Aubrey on the narrow pathway. She gave out this dark aura that made her feel like the shark in  _Jaws_.

Before they reached a fork in the path and properly dispersed, Beca approached the blonde. She didn't know what she was trying to say. Words of reassurance? Advice? Suggestions or change? What was she supposed to do? Was this actually a thing she was meant to do at all? It was just— Aubrey looked upset, Chloe had somehow disappeared into the ether (another doctor's appointment? Beca had lost track of what really happened in between all of Aubrey's lectures and grousing) and it felt like the task of improving the blonde's mood had fallen on Beca.

Aubrey was still off in her own a cappella centric world, though, fuming about this or that and muttering things under her breath with a frown.

"So much for gigs paying the way to regionals," Beca could just about hear her say.

"How  _are_  we going to raise money for regionals?" Beca asked.

Aubrey looked startled, but her frown quickly returned. "Not  _now_ , Beca."

"You know, it's only been like a week. We can—"

"I said  _not now_."

"Okay…" Beca said. "Hey, do you know where Chloe went? She's not going to do do anything stupid because of, you know…"

"They're called  _nodes_  Beca," Aubrey said. "It's not a taboo word."

"Okay. But Chloe…"

"What do I look like? Her keeper?" Aubrey snapped. I don't know where she's gone. I don't have time for this."

"I was just ask—"

"I said  _not now_!"

It was like being blind-sighted by a punch to the face. Beca could have thought a hundred metaphors right then to express her shock and disbelief.

"Fine," she mumbled.

 

* * *

 

When she got back to her room, Beca consulted at least three different websites about vocal nodules.

Chloe was a little out there, yeah, a real head-in-the-clouds-type but she didn't seem like the type to run off without warning. Beca was, okay, maybe Beca was a little worried but that didn't make them officially  _friend_  friends like that the way she and Aubrey weren't, well, what  _was_  the word you called a person you went out with that one time? Were  _they_ friends too? Beca hated this 'other people' thing.

She liked Chloe, anyway. They talked about things. They enjoyed each other's company. She didn't always try to convince her to watch terrible movies sometime and her jokes weren't that corny. Aside from the whole 'I've seen you naked' thing, it was a pretty comfortable, normal set up. Beca wasn't really one for the status quo, but she acknowledged it was…pretty nice. She didn't have much in the way of friends and the past few months at Barden had been (not lonely because she didn't  _get_  lonely) kind of uncomfortable. She like Barden better with the Bellas.

So Beca did what she had to do.

She sent a text to Chloe asking if she was really okay and if nodes really were that serious. Then, many hours later, she sent one to Aubrey asking to Aubrey asking the same. Chloe didn't text back. Maybe it was too raw an issue; the thought made Beca feel pretty shitty for bringing it up – it was a freaking  _disease_  she had after all. (Beca didn't think about how she made fun of Aubrey's seemingly involuntary vomit reaction on their date, no she definitely didn't.)

Aubrey, however, did text back. It was a clipped, perfectly informative message noting that an e-mail had been sent to her school address with some hyperlinks to websites on the matter (some forums frequented by actual singers who'd had the problem and swapped life stories) and a perfectly civil judgment from Aubrey saying that 'Chloe would survive the season'.

Since she apparently had Aubrey's attention, Beca composed another message. She opted for something teasing. It would be funny. Aubrey could give a sharp remark in reply and they'd exchange barbs and banter like they did on their date. It would be good.

One problem: she couldn't think of anything remotely witty. It was ridiculous. Beca Mitchell was an endless oasis of wit. Something was wrong with her. She sighed and settled for a generic, open-ended comment on the next practice that Aubrey could latch onto. She never shut up about a cappella when she got the chance, or at least she didn't when they were on their date.

Beca read over her handiwork and hit send.

To that text, Aubrey did not reply.


	4. Chapter 4

The SBT gig had been a washout. Aubrey knew the girls were not performance ready but she had also hoped, in her heart of hearts, that the pressure and thrill of finally coming together in one performance would give them the kick they needed to pull it together. Some people thrived under pressure. She hardly expected them to be the rockfish (found up to one-thousand six-hundred feet beneath sea level and otherwise bone-crushing water pressures) of a cappella, but she had hoped, however futile a hope it had been, that lighting a fire underneath them would finally get them to work.

That plan had backfired, of course. (Most of Aubrey's plans did that. This was a rare instance where she had no contingencies and she was kicking herself for it.)

She didn't know how she was going to look Howie in the eye again at their next Poli Sci class. She'd pestered him for weeks to get him to book the gig. (She was aware she had reached the lowest of lows when she was asking frat boys for favors.) Maybe she could just avoid his table. No, that wasn't right. Posens did not run away from problems. Posen made problems disappear. She couldn't outright murder him but—

Who was she trying to kid? She'd just have to march up and face the music. Poli Sci class was, thankfully, not for another six days. Aubrey loathed procrastination almost as much as she loathed mediocrity but she was resigned to the fact there was no way to do anything to deal with that particular situation at the moment. It would have to wait.

Aubrey was not feeling particularly nice. Aubrey's mood, if anything, was decidedly dour. Dour was a misnomer, really. Dour did not capture the stinging humiliation of being practically laughed off a stage. Dour did not capture all the anger at being unprepared or the intense dislike bubbling away for the motley bunch of incompetent newcomers who did not take to her directions at all.

This was not a mood to talk to other people in. This was not a mood to interact with anybody in. Well-socialized people could read the atmosphere in a room and guess, from that, the tone they should take with its occupants. In a similar way now, they should have been able to read the absolute zero frost around Aubrey—a disposition so cold it burned almost as hot as the seething indignation and rage she could only just keep a handle on.

No. No, this just was not the time.

It wasn't as bad as projectile vomiting all over the third row in Lincoln Centre, but most things weren't. (If Aubrey was going to judge her life by such low hurdles, she might as well just not bother running the race.) Aubrey, stripped of respectability or credibility as she was, had  _standards_. Under those standards,  _failing_  and _humiliating_ herself in another performance was unacceptable.

Yet she'd still gone ahead and done it. To make matters work, she'd dragged along the new recruits with her. She couldn't decide if she hated them for not keeping up or herself for not training them properly. If the saying was true and there were really no bad students, just bad teachers, then Aubrey was a complete and utter failure.

Feeling sad was easy. The dissatisfaction and self-loathing were familiar enough to be almost comfortable, strange as it seemed. Aubrey couldn't afford to do easy anymore. Easy was comfortable, but inefficient. Easy didn't get you anywhere. This was a horrible feeling, marching away, remembering what it was to be laughed at until all the instances (today, Lincoln Center, high school, middle school, elementary, childhood) blurred together into an irrational ripple of memories pushing at each other like a chain of dominos until there was nothing but that awful, sinking  _misery_  left in her gut—a churning so physical it made bile rise up in the back of her throat.

Anger would be better. She could will her head to change as much as she liked, but she couldn't steer sadness into satisfaction or even apathy. Changing it into anger, though, was doable.

Anger would have to do now. Aubrey knew how to, at the very least, turn anger and shame into something motivating, and useful. It was, perhaps, not the most sustainable fuel to run on but it burned bright and strong and it seemed leagues more useful than sadness or embarrassment or grief.

She let the thoughts cloud over her head and boil over her heart. She couldn't look at any of them now, not any of the Bellas, until she wrangled this nascent rage into something useful.

Aubrey was not feeling particularly nice. Beca kept prodding at her, asking inane questions and ignoring the obvious dark cloud hanging over her head. Something was done about that—she didn't remember what exactly, but it had worked well enough and Aubrey got her peace, alone, to muddle through her head.

It was a long walk back to her dorm.

* * *

Five pages of angry writing and a new rehearsal schedule later, Aubrey felt marginally better. Certainly, not better enough to be deemed 'good' on any level, but certainly tolerable. Her hand would not stop shaking, though, and that was not generally the best of signs. She hoped it reflected all the writing she'd been doing (come to think of it, the penmanship was a little sloppy on those drafts…) rather than any lingering mood. Ignoring it was as good an action as any.

Her phone buzzed: Beca, asking after Chloe. It was a nice sentiment, if a little dramatic. Aubrey replied with strictly the facts, wondering how much time Beca spend fretting over Web MD. No skin off her back, though. As much as she'd like to, micromanaging Beca's internet habits seemed more than a tad creepy (especially if she was going to seriously pursue her chances of a relationship.)

Beca again, quickly after the reply was sent. Aubrey frowned as she looked over the phone screen. It was something inane: a poor attempt at small talk. Generally, Aubrey preferred it hen the other person in the conversation had the ability to carry it. Communication was not one of her strong suits. With Chloe, at least, she could count on awkwardness being whittled away by an unending series of questions or observations about her day. Beca was bad at filling spaces between words. They were, it seemed, going to be doubly incompetent about this facet of their relationship.

No matter, Aubrey would have to make do. She couldn't reply just off the bat, though, not when Beca's message showed such a flagrant lack of forethought and consideration.

It was very awkward to look at. The more Aubrey stared at the words on the screen, the more she felt anxious about what to say. It was ridiculous. They couldn't possibly be worse than what Beca wrote.

(But then again, Aubrey hadn't thought the Bellas were going to be  _that_ bad at the SBT mixer either. Aubrey's judgement didn't seem particularly reliable anymore.)

Then came the question of  _when_  it'd be appropriate to send the message. Aubrey's frown deepened. She opened up the app for the timer and set it to countdown. There was only so long she could put off answering Beca's message before she made herself seem rude.

A message… A message she had no idea how to begin.

The phone wasn't helping.

Aubrey shoved it in her drawer and turned to a fresh page in her legal pad. She scrawled out some ideas for replies to Beca despite the ache in her wrist and her fingers and the way her hand didn't seem inclined to listen to what her brain had to say. It must have gone on for a while (either due to the conflict in her hand-eye coordination or the frequency with which she crossed out words) before she drafted something resembling a satisfactory message.

Aubrey read it through one last time and set the paper down on her desk. Her timer hadn't gone off yet. No point in wasting time agonizing over it any longer. She could get some reading in before the text had to be sent.

 

* * *

 

She was anticipating noise, but instead of the familiar alarm tone, her phone screamed to life with blaring, obnoxious shrieks that made her wince.

She realized it was ringing. The weird noise was almost a ring tone. It was that obnoxious ball of noise her brother liked to pretend was music. For all his faults, he was persistent. Or perhaps stubborn was a better word. (Stubborn was a fault. There was no need to go around assigning him positive qualities.) Sighing, she answered. Before she could say her customary greeting, he spoke.

"'Sup, Bree? Where you at?"

He couldn't even be bothered to talk properly, could he? No. Not her brother.

"Don't call me," she said, "and don't talk like that."

"What? Like I have  _swagger_?" She could practically hear the way he was waggling his eyebrows.

"I don't know what swagger is, exactly, but I can only assume it's not something that's easily granted to upper-middle class white boys."

"We're just  _middle_ -middle class. We don't have  _nearly_ enough money to be upper-middle class. I checked."

"Because that makes you so undeniably  _ghetto_."

"Don't say 'ghetto'. It sounds weird when you say it."

"How do you think  _I_  feel when I hear  _you_  talk?"

" _Ecstatic_  that your wonderful brother has bothered to drop a line, of course."

"You're a pest."

"I love you too," he replied airily. "Anyway, I'm bored and I decided I wanted to hear more about your new weather front."

She gave it a second, but she still couldn't figure it out. "My what?"

"The bow-chicka-bow-wow stirring your loins," he sang, terribly off-pitch. "Is that a better term for you?"

"I hate you."

"We already  _said_  our 'I love you's. Don't get mushy on me now. It's sickening."

"I'm hanging up."

"No! Stop!" There was a noise like something had been knocked off a table and smashed against the floor. All it did was make Aubrey feel anxious about the mess he made somewhere even if she technically wasn't obligated to clean up after him anymore.

"Wow," she said. "Someone sounds desperate. Do you need money?"

"I don't  _always_  need money." He sniffed. He mumbled, "Sometimes, maybe, I just want a little company…"

"Did you get yourself arrested?" It would explain his desperation to ensure she didn't hang up, but not the obnoxious ringing out of her phone.

"No, not  _this_  time, thanks," he grit out. Perhaps if she offended him enough he'd go away. It worked for him in his dealing with her. As loathe as she was to copy her brother at a time like this, she wouldn't say he was without his merits.

"Then what  _do_ you want?"

"To hear about the weather." He blew a raspberry. "Duh."

"It's slightly cloudy."

"Not  _that_  weather, jerk-off."

Weather? Weather? Oh, yes. There was that awfully contrived 'hot front' pun he'd used to describe Beca after the Facebook debacle. The only saving grace of the day as that Chloe had not mentioned any specific names. "I'm not telling you about my romantic life."

"Why not?" he whined. "It's so entertaining. Mom was so happy when you finally started doing things with boys that didn't, you know, revolve around making them cry."

(Actually, she still made boys cry, though she supposed the context of it was too different to count. He did not deserve to know these things, though.)

"I gave  _one_  speech to  _one_ boy."

"And you made him bawl like a baby. I mean, you've got to pity the guys you've dated," he said in a voice that was a little garbled by chewing and grinning. He sounded like he was eating something unhealthy and delicious. Definitely not in jail, then. Drat. "You're such a ball buster."

"Well it's a good thing this doesn't have balls, isn't it?" she snapped.

Oh godammit. When would she learn to get baited again? Aubrey held her breath. He hardly ever paid attention to when she was berating him. His selective hearing tended to benefit him but maybe it'd finally work in her favor. Or maybe he'd just ignore it and then she could say he had no excuse because she'd tried…

"Well no shit," he replied, swallowing whatever it was he was chewing. "You only ever get this uptight when girls are involved. It's hilarious."

"What." It was a statement, not question, too. Aubrey was  _that_  thrown.

"Yeah. It's super funny. Like that time in high school where you were mooning away about Lydia Goldberg and Michael Venetti at the same time?" He seemed so casual Aubrey wanted to shove her hands through the line and strangle him. "The  _best_. I was laughing my ass off. You talk in your sleep too, just so you know. I mean, I only know because I thought it was funny to swap things around on your desk and see if you noticed and flipped a shit, which you always did, so…"

"You… You  _knew_? You knew  _this whole time_?"

"Huh? About what?"

"I… Me… Girls…"

"Are you still on that?" he said. "Yeah, ages ago."

"I—What—? You  _knew_?"

"I'm your twin brother, dumbass," he said.

"It doesn't show," she spoke over him.

He ignored it. (Selective hearing.) "Of course I knew."

"Does  _everyone_ know?"

"Pretty much. It's about as well kept a secret as Israel's nuclear bombs. Okay, okay, I joke. That's not even a secret," he said jovially. When she didn't laugh, he cleared his throat and continued. "For real, though, well, Mom and Dad don't know. I don't think so. Anyway,  _I_ never told them."

She swallowed. "Dad knows."

"Huh," he said. There was a pause. "I didn't think he was that observant."

"He's not. I, uh— I accidentally told him."

"…You told  _Dad_ before you told Mom?" The way he said it carried uncharacteristic gravitas. It was uncomfortably thought provoking.  _Dad:_  the bringer of discipline.  _Dad:_ the unquestionable autocrat who forbade crying.  _Dad:_ who had thought it appropriate to teach them to swim by tossing them into a lake and checked their beds were made to standard every morning by bouncing quarters of the edges.

When put it that light, telling Dad before Mom did seems like a poor life choice. There was no taking it back now, though.

"Yes," she said.

"…Mom's going to kill you," he said without humor. "She hates it when you pick Dad." He chuckled. "Well, at least _I_  can be someone's favorite. I'm totally calling dibs on Mom's affection."

"You're already Mom's favorite."

"Yeah, but now I'll be  _that much more_  the favorite than you," he said. "No need to complain." He snickered. "It just figures you'd tell him  _accidentally_. I thought you only blurted out stupid stuff for  _me_. I feel a little less special, now, actually… Don't worry, though. I'm sure you got extra brownie Dad Points by telling him first."

There was little actual reward in being Dad's favorite, of course, but before she could come up with a metaphor to appropriately articulate this, her phone buzzed.

"Ah," Aubrey said. She moved the phone away from her ear and tapped speakerphone, glancing over the screen. Ah, yes. The alarm she'd set. It had been precisely fifty-two minutes after Beca had sent her last text. It was just the appropriate amount of time to suggest she was busy, yet not too indifferent to answer, nor overeager to give reply. She couldn't allow her brother to mess up such impeccably calculated interval timing. (The times had also given her a window of opportunity to go through several drafts of the right message. "Give me a second. I need to reply to a text."

"Ooh, ooh," he called through the shoddy speakers. "Who's it from? Chloe?"

"No." Where was the paper with her draft on it?

"Weather Front?"

"…Are you going to insist on calling her that?" Oh. Right there. Excellent.

"Are you going to tell me her name?"

Aubrey only paused for half a second. "Yes, I'm texting the Weather Front."

Aubrey began typing up the message. Her brother must have heard the click of the keys over the speakerphone.

"No!" he said. "No, do not text her back! That is a disaster waiting to happen! Real life is enough. You're seeing her in real life so cool it. Do you want to scare her off or something? Jesus, you still need to secure date number two. And here I thought all that stuff about lesbians moving super fast was just a stereotype."

"I will find a way to hit you though this phone line."

"Just joking. Sheesh. One would have thought the prospect of getting laid would have chilled you out."

"I swear to god I will grow up to be a hotshot investment banker just so I can earn enough money to commission a guy to follow you around and beat you up whenever I feel like it."

"Our sibling relationship is great, isn't it, Bree-bree? Really functional."

"Normal siblings threaten each other with death all the time."

"Normal siblings don't make highly detailed plans and write them down in a big book."

"I write everything down," Aubrey counted. "It's cathartic."

"It's grounds for arrest," he said. "And it's  _sloppy_  to leave evidence lying around."

"Are you pressing charges?"

"Not really, no, but it's great blackmail opportunity. Like, legitimate blackmail."

"I think we can both agree the murder plans I have for you are too ridiculous to be accepted into a court of law."

"Ridiculous but effective. It's like you achieved a perfect balance between practicality and plausible deniability."

"That's what makes a truly great murder."

He laughed wryly. "Once again pitying this kid you like."

"Are you jealous I might actually want to murder someone else?"

"Well, maybe a little bit. You should be touched." Some more garbled static and awkward thumping noises against the receiver. "This is me, touching you. With words of heartfelt affection."

"Duly appreciated." Maybe if she distracted him long enough with his whimsies, she could finish copying up this text.

"I told you not to text her!"

Of course he heard. Her brother filtered out any sounds he didn't like. He could identify the sound of packages of food being opened in the distance (and thus prime opportunities to mooch initialized) but was wholly immune to warning about her claim over the shower, kitchen, computer or car.

"Why?"

"Because it's a  _bad idea_! You know what? I changed my mind," he stropped. "Maybe I don't like Weather Front at all."

"This is awful reverse psychology."

"Maybe I'm just being  _honest_ ," he whined. "You know I'm the only one in this family who is. I mean, let's think about the situation. The last time something like this happened my bleeding-heart sister got her bleeding-heart  _ripped out_."

"You're being dramatic again."

"No I'm not. I mean, yeah, watching you moon over Lydia Goldstein was funny until Lydia Goldstein  _bit back_."

"I handled it."

"Sure you did. I'd just like to mind you you're ridiculously sentimental and a sucker for a pretty face."

Aubrey's face felt warm, but it must have been for an entirely unrelated reason. "Chloe vouches for her."

"So?"

"So I thought you liked Chloe."

"Only when she's disagreeing with you," he drawled. "And why? Does Chloe have some sort of knowledge that you don't?"

Aubrey considered the topic on a purely factual level. "She's seen her naked."

"She's seen her  _naked?_ "

Context would be appropriate. "They met in the showers."

" _They met in the showers_." He coughed. "Aubrey, next time  _lead_  with important details like that! And— I can hear you typing  _don't you dare hit send_."

"Chloe said—"

He scoffed. "What does  _Chloe_  know about dating chicks? Your brother's got you covered. Don't listen to  _Chloe_. Didn't you say she saw this girl in the shower naked? You've got to watch yourself. This is a dangerous game."

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm family. That's got to count for something, right?"

"Who's being sentimental  _now_?"

He huffed on the other side of the line. "Fine, fine. I'll keep it short and to the point. Play it cool. You came on way too strong."

"I did not!"

"You totally did. You need to be more aloof. I bet you've sent her a dozen texts already."

"No!" she gloated. "No I haven't!" She ignored the dozens of drafts of text littered on sheet of paper around her. They didn't count.

"Why? Because you've been obsessing over  _the perfect message_?"

Damn him.

"No."

"It's exactly what you've been doing. I'm so right." His voice was somewhere between amusement and exasperation. More the former. "This is great."

"I'll have you know I've settled on just the right message now."

"But is it  _really_? Are you  _really_  satisfied with it? Is it anything you couldn't just tell her in real life? Texts are such a toneless medium, you know…"

"Don't try and play such obvious head games with me, you jerk."

"As your brother, I'd just like you to think this through."

That was—

That was surprisingly earnest.

Sometimes, she forgot he could get that way.

"I'm not going to—"

"I just think," he cut in, "I'm the one with practical, experience on the matter and any tangible return for my efforts."

And there he went. A total one-eighty back to his usual MO. It'd be disappointing if it wasn't so inevitable.

He went on. "Are you really going to take  _Chloe_ 's advice over your darling, devilishly handsome brother's? I mean, niceness aside, it's not like you haven't told me about Chloe's track record with relationships."

Aubrey's voice dropped a below freezing. "There's nothing wrong with Chloe's choices."

"For her, yeah… But we're kind of— Uh, you're different, you know? And I think we can both agree Chloe's thing isn't exactly…Posen style. Not  _your_ Posen style, anyway." His smirk was audible. "I'm kind of a loose canon in that regard."

"I'm hanging up."

"Fine, fine," he sighed. "But take my advice or you'll regret it."

"Hanging up. This is a last courtesy message."

"Oh, yeah," he added. "Don't bother trying to change your ring tone for me. I've got  _fling tones_. They're great. Whenever I call you they force your phone to make whatever song I'm paid for. I love it. You love it to, let's be real."

"Goodbye."

 

* * *

 

Maybe she missed him more than she thought.

She took his stupid advice.

Beca's message went without reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now you know why Aubrey never replied Beca's text at the end of the last chapter. When I said 'annoying families' were going to be a thing, they're going to be a thing. It will take us a while to get to Beca's, though. 
> 
> As ever, feedback is love.


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